When our actions do not,

Our fears do make us traitors.

Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 2.

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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

Uproar the universal peace, confound

All unity on earth.

Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3.