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Macbeth

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Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

Create your own at Storyboard That

Where hast thou been, sister?

Sister, where thou?

Killing swine

A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

I'll give thee a wind.

Th' art kind

And I another

I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.

Shew me, shew me.

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.

Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.

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Storyboard Text

  • Killing swine
  • Where hast thou been, sister?
  • Sister, where thou?
  • A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me." quoth I:-- "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
  • I'll give thee a wind.
  • Th' art kind
  • And I another
  • I myself have all the other; and the very ports they blow, all the quarters that they know i' th' shipman's card. I'll drain him dry as hay: sleep shall, neither night nor day, hang upon his pent-house lid; he shall live a man forbid. Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: though his bark cannot be lost, yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have.
  • Shew me, shew me.
  • Here I pilot's thumb, wrack'd as homeward he did come.
  • A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.
  • The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land, thus do go about, about: thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine. Peace!-- the charm's wound up.
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