Lady Macbeth
Yet here's a spot.
 ... 
Out, damned spot! out, I say! -- One: two: why, then, 
'tis time to do't. Hell is murky.  Fie, my 
lord, fie, a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear 
who knows it, when none can call our power to 
account?  Yet who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him?
 ... 
The thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?
What, will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' 
that, my lord, no more o' that; you mar all with 
this starting. 
 ... 
Here's the smell of the blood still. All the 
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
hand. Oh, oh, oh!
 ... 
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so 
pale.  I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he
cannot come out on's grave.
 ... 
To bed, to bed. There's knocking at the gate.
Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's 
done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.