Monologues

The Raven Himself Is Hoarse (Dramatic)

From Macbeth 

by Shakespeare  

Lady Macbeth:

The raven himself is hoarse 

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 

Under my battlements. Come, you spirits

That tend of mortal thoughts, unsex me here, 

And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood;

Stop up the access and passage to remorse,

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 

The effect an it! Come to my woman's breasts,

And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,

Wherever in you sightless substances

You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,

That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,

to cry 'Hold, hold!