shakespeare.txt

IS THIS A DAGGER WHICH I SEE BEFORE ME,
THE HANDLE TOWARD MY HAND? COME, LET ME CLUTCH THEE;
I HAVE THEE NOT, AND YET I SEE THEE STILL.
ART THOU NOT, FATAL VISION, SENSIBLE
TO FEELING AS TO SIGHT? OR ART THOU BUT
A DAGGER OF THE MIND, A FALSE CREATION,
PROCEEDING FROM THE HEAT-OPPRESSED BRAIN?
I SEE THEE YET, IN FORM AS PALPABLE
AS THIS WHICH NOW I DRAW.