Macbeth (cont.)
Which thou dost glare with!
Lady Macbeth
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: ’tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macbeth
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm’d rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: or be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!
Why, so: being gone,
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.