Es sprach Lady Macbeth

by Gunnar on 23. November 2005 · 2 comments

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the final entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood,
Stop th’ access and passage to remorse
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts
And take my milk for gall,
you murd’ring ministers,
Whatever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry “Hold”, “Hold”

[William Shakespeare, The tragedy of MacBeth]

Keine Ahnung, warum ich das gerade gepostet habe. Hatte einen Retro-Moment, einen Rückfall in meine Shakespeare-Junkie-Phase. Oder so. Eklatant schöner Text.

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