1 Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts.
2 A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
3 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
4 He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou naught.
5 These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
6 I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
7 My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret farther: only, I say, Thing's have been strangely borne.
8 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well; He hath not touch'd you yet.
9 My lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well.
10 I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to th everlasting bonfire.
11 Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour.
12 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smother'd in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.