She'll close, and be herself, whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
in the affliction of these terrible dreams
That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave.
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further.
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