Long post, but here they are. If you want to do extra credit memorization and then recite it for me, you are welcome to. :)
Option 1
Act I, scene 7, lines 1-29
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust;
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other.
Option 2Act II, scene 1, lines 33-61Is this a dagger which I see before me,The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.Art thou not, fatal vision, sensibleTo feeling as to sight? Or art thou but(45)A dagger of the mind, a false creation,Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?I see thee yet, in form as palpableAs this which now I draw.Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,(50)And such an instrument I was to use.Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still,And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,Which was not so before. There's no such thing:(55)It is the bloody business which informsThus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-worldNature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuseThe curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebratesPale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murder,(60)Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his designMoves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear(65)Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,And take the present horror from the time,Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
Option 3
Act IV, scene 1
First Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whin’d. 4
Third Witch. Harper cries: ’Tis time, ’tis time.
First Witch. Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone 8
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
All. Double, double toil and trouble; 12
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Sec. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 16
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble, 20
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Third Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 24
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew, 28
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe 32
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Option 4Act V, scene 3, lines 22-28 and Act II, scene 1, lines 48-72I have lived long enough: my way of lifeIs fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have; but, in their stead,Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton!To be thus is nothing;But to be safely thus.--Our fears in BanquoStick deep; and in his royalty of natureReigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valourTo act in safety. There is none but heWhose being I do fear: and, under him,My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said,Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisterWhen first they put the name of king upon me,And bade them speak to him: then prophet-likeThey hail'd him father to a line of kings:Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so,For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind;For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd;Put rancours in the vessel of my peaceOnly for them; and mine eternal jewelGiven to the common enemy of man,To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!Rather than so, come fate into the listAnd champion me to the utterance! Who's there!
Option 5Act I, scene 3, lines 130-142/Act V, scene 5, lines 19-28/Act 5, scene 8, lines 27-34This supernatural solicitingCannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill,Why hath it given me earnest of success,Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:If good, why do I yield to that suggestionWhose horrid image doth unfix my hairAnd make my seated heart knock at my ribs,Against the use of nature? Present fearsAre less than horrible imaginings:My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,Shakes so my single state of man that functionIs smother'd in surmise, and nothing isBut what is not.To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to dayTo the last syllable of recorded time,And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life's but a walking shadow, a poor playerThat struts and frets his hour upon the stageAnd then is heard no more: it is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.I will not yield,To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,And to be baited with the rabble's curse.Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,And thou opposed, being of no woman born,Yet I will try the last. Before my bodyI throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'
