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!
~ William Shakespeare (Macbeth)