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Story Time
In *Macbeth*, the Scottish lords wrestled with **conformity**—whether to follow the natural order or the will of a usurper. Macbeth’s rise itself was a **coup**, blood staining the crown that prophecy had promised. It seemed **counter-intuitive** to murder a king who had shown him honor, yet his ambition drowned reason. Lady Macbeth pressed him forward with **delusions** of grandeur, as if fate were bound by iron **determinism**. Their acts, branded as **deviance** from both law and loyalty, shattered the realm.
The new king ruled by **decree**, but his authority quickly stank of **despotism**. He feared betrayal, yet the true rot came from within. Banquo’s ghost reminded him that no power could hide crimes forever. If the court had taken **depositions**, if there had been trials with a **defendant** in chains, perhaps truth might have surfaced. Instead, whispers spread through the high halls, and the nobles, once silent, prepared for rebellion.
Shakespeare’s tragedies often show this **dichotomy**: the hand that strikes with force and the mind that falters in fear. Macbeth’s sword showed **dexterity**, but his thoughts could not hold steady. He would **digress** into mutterings, hearing voices, seeing daggers, believing shadows were soldiers. Even his queen, once fierce, **defecated** her courage into madness, her guilt overflowing in sleepwalking cries.
In the end, ambition without wisdom collapses upon itself. What begins as triumph—called fate, decree, or prophecy—becomes ruin, leaving behind not kingship but only corpses. Shakespeare teaches that power won without justice is always power already lost.
The new king ruled by **decree**, but his authority quickly stank of **despotism**. He feared betrayal, yet the true rot came from within. Banquo’s ghost reminded him that no power could hide crimes forever. If the court had taken **depositions**, if there had been trials with a **defendant** in chains, perhaps truth might have surfaced. Instead, whispers spread through the high halls, and the nobles, once silent, prepared for rebellion.
Shakespeare’s tragedies often show this **dichotomy**: the hand that strikes with force and the mind that falters in fear. Macbeth’s sword showed **dexterity**, but his thoughts could not hold steady. He would **digress** into mutterings, hearing voices, seeing daggers, believing shadows were soldiers. Even his queen, once fierce, **defecated** her courage into madness, her guilt overflowing in sleepwalking cries.
In the end, ambition without wisdom collapses upon itself. What begins as triumph—called fate, decree, or prophecy—becomes ruin, leaving behind not kingship but only corpses. Shakespeare teaches that power won without justice is always power already lost.