Is this a dagger which i see before me,
The handle towards my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, fatal vision, sensible
To feel as to sight, or art thou but
A dagger of the mind a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshal'st me the way that i was going:
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' 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.
embroidery fan
Is this a dagger in front of me
With the sharp point toward me? Let me grab it.
I don't have an idea about death, so I can imagine
Feeling death as I see this knife, or are you
only my imagination?
because I have heat stroke?
I see the knife in a form as touchable
as my knike I'm pulling out.
You make me do things
And make me use my knife
My eyes are getting mixed up by my other senses
or else they're the best sense! I still see that knife.
And on its blade & handle lots of blood
Which wasn't there before. It's not really there.
Orignal From: Macbeth Translate monologue to modern English?
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