La[dy Macbeth]. I pray you ſpeake not: he growes worſe & worſe Queſtion enrages him: at once, goodnight. […] Len[nox]. Good night, and better health Attend his Maieſty.

[…] for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage […]

Though this was one of the firſt mercantile tranſactions of my life, yet I had no doubt about acquitting myſelf with reputation.

Winch in those sails, lad!