Thou canst not say I did it: never shake If charnel-houses and our graves must send Thy gory locks at me. Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. ROSS GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, What, quite unmann'd in folly? And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; MACBETH The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, If I stand here, I saw him. You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that MACBETH Which might appal the devil. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; LADY MACBETH Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd O proper stuff! Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, This is the very painting of your fear: That, when the brains were out, the man would die, This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, And there an end; but now they rise again, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, Impostors to true fear, would well become And push us from our stools: this is more strange A woman's story at a winter's fire, Than such a murder is. Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, LADY MACBETH You look but on a stool. My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! MACBETH how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.
Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH