Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.

ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.

For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation.

Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.