All of Shakespeare’s plays.
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?
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.
An open source tool for making transcripts really easy to read, search and share on the modern web
Your donations keep this site and others like it running
A Poplus component
mySociety is a registered charity in England and Wales (1076346) and a limited company (03277032). We provide commercial
services through our wholly owned subsidiary