Lady Macbeths diary December 27th 1557 Dearest diary, Doth Macbeth lack all divine sense for

is he a haggard fool? Odsbokin! He hath been told by the 3 witches who loiter the moors that he shall be the king of Scotland. Macbeth bateth with his superiors, he must be cruel, help me o spirits to behest this man and to unleash his leasing fore he is peevish. Macbeth writeth to me that he will be king! He must be filled with illness. He hath redeth but he must be a sheep biter to Duncan. My thane is not wreakful, he art have ambition and he playeth fair and frightened by misdread. Thane of Glamis and of Cawdor hath arriveth to my aboad. I must reach him at the blasted crooks of Castle Stuart. After supper, we thanketh our love and we art together once again. I loveth having my dear thane within my company. I approacheth him stating Thee shalt be the new king of Scotand ehi? I knoweth not my love, twas barely a couppla o hackneys who escapeth from the Hot house in Glasgow. If thee wishd to be king, thou mustd be fobbeth him, king Duncan I speak of! Grab thou dudgeon and baffle him! King Duncan is a Baw cock, I hast bate for him, thee is antic! What museth thee, as to kill the Great king!? Thee, great Thane of Glamis and of Cawdor, my dear man; must quell the king. Be lewd unto him, be thy faitor my dear man, killeth him. Expiate this, woman! I shall not hear this nonsense. He is mulled, he art mirable, but he is frightened of this patchery. Help me o spirits, make maketh my milk of kindness into gall.

he raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements. Come, you spirits that tend on 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 and it! Come to my woman's breasts, and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, wherever in your 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!' Dictionary of words

Odsbokin Batheth Behest Lease Peevish Redeth Sheep biter Wrekful Misdread Hackeny Hot house Fob Dudgeon Baffle Baw-cock bate Antic Muse Quell Lewd Faitor mirable patchery Oh God! To be weak control falsehood Childish, silly to agree, to counsel A malicious creep vengeful Fear of evil Loose woman A brothel To trick to be cheatful Dagger handle To disgrace A fine fellow fight crazy To wonder murder vile Wrong doer admirable trickery