Lady Macbeth

• "Heres the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. O, O, O!"


  The indelible imagined spot envelopes the chilling smell of the blood, the distinctive metallic smell unable to be scrubbed out of her memory, the stain of her guilt is eternal and is manifesting before her eyes. The audience must catch this sickening distinctive smell in their imaginations and smell the exotics of all the perfumes of arabia that wouldn't even scrape this smell of everlasting distain from her hand.
• "heres the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of arabia will not sweeten this little hand. O, O, O!'

  To take away a stench of death is impossible and her seal with fate is expressed in the desolate sigh of despair, O, O, O - her submission to this stain of her past is stated by the doctor, "the heart is sorely charged" her overburdened heart with the murders crushing weight has a futile attempt of relief; that desolate sigh.
• "Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. Why then, ’tis time to do ’t. Hell is murky."


  The switch to "hell is murky" she herself imagines this night as "palled in the dunnest smoke of hell" the covering blanket that despairs to hide the acts of regicide. This is the night lady Macbeth is stuck in a trapped replay of, the sounds and colours are her subconscious. Even as going so far to berate the imaginary Macbeth taunting the act,
• "Out damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. Why then, 'tis the time to do 't. Hell is murky."


  an imagined interlocutor, Macbeth "Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and afeard?" What are you afraid of, big man? Just do it. (She’s now afraid of everything.) the ironic desperation to replay the moments of where she was once in control, on repeat, over and over display perhaps her own symptoms of the utter lack of control over not just macbeth but her own self in the deprecation of her mind. The free verse is a clear mirroring of this.