Literary Devices in Macbeth - Act 1

And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,/ Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak

Duncan: True, worthy Banquo, he is full so valiant

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help

But in a sieve I'll thither sail,/ And like a rat without a tail,/ I'll do

So foul and fair a day I have not seen

Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against/ The deep damnation of his taking off

Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,/ That my keen knife see not the wound it makes

But screw your courage to the sticking place

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater./  Not so happy, yet much happier.

Duncan: He was a gentleman on whom I built/ An absolute trust. 

Into the air: and what seem'd corporal melted/ As breath into the wind