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Macb. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say

Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.
If charnel-houses and our graves must send 71
Those that we bury back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.

[Exit Ghost, Lady M.

What, quite unmann'd in folly? Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. Lady M.

Fie, for shame!
Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,

Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal ;
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform’d
Too terrible for the ear : the time has been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again, 80
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools : this is more strange

Than such a murder is.
Lady M.

My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack

you. Macb.

I do forget.
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health

to all;

Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine, fill full.
I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 90
Would he were here! to all and him we thirst,

And all to all.

Our duties, and the pledge.

Re-enter Ghost.
Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

Which thou dost glare with.
Lady M.

Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ;

Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare :

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ;
Take any shape but that, and my

Shall never tremble : or be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!

[Exit Ghost.



Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke the good

With most admired disorder.

Can such things be, 110
And overcome u8 like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe,
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,

When mine is blanch'd with fear.

What sights, my lord? Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and

worse ;
Question enrages him : at once, good night:
Stand not upon the order of your going,

But go at once.

Good night; and better health 120 Attend his majesty!

A kind good night to all !

[Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady M. Macb. It will have blood : they say blood will have

blood : Stones have been known to move and trees to speak ;

Lady M,

Augures and understood relations have
By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought

forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is

which. Macb. How say 'st thou, that Macduff denies his person

At our great bidding? Lady M.


you send to him, sir? Macb. I hear it by the way, but I will send : 130

There's not a one of them but in his house
I keep a servant fee’d. I will to-morrow,
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters :
More shall they speak, for now I am bent to

By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good
All causes shall give way: I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er :
Strange things I have in head that will to hand,

Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 140
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Macb. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use :


but young in deed.

We are yet

Scene V.

A heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate. First Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ! you look angerly. Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and over-bold? How did


To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is



you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning: thither he
Will come to know his destiny:
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms and every thing beside.
I am for the air ; this night I 'll spend

20 Unto a dismal and a fatal end :

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