Macbeth Literary Devices Storyboard
Text z Príbehu
- Fair is foul, and foul is fairHover through the fog and filthy air
- I see thee still,And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,Which was not so before
- If charnel-houses and our graves must sendThose that we bury back, our monumentsShall be the maws of kites.
- Fillet of a fenny snake,In the cauldron boil and bake;
- Out, out, brief candle!Life's but a walking shadow, a poor playerThat struts and frets his hour upon the stageAnd then is heard no more
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