All of Shakespeare’s plays. More…
Aside Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.
Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.
Therein the patient Must minister to himself.
Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.
Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets: More needs she the divine than the physician. God, God forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her ...
Will she go now to bed?
Even so?
This disease is beyond my practise: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.
Well, well, well,--
What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
Do you mark that?
Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.
You see, her eyes are open.
How came she by that light?
You may to me: and 'tis most meet you should.
A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?
I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?
Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but at his touch-- Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand-- They presently amend.