My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.
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:
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.
Our duties, and the pledge.
[Ghost rises again.]
Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other,
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
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 firm nerves
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!
Why, so; — being gone,
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still.
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,
With most admir'd disorder.
Can such things be,
And overcome us 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 are blanch'd with fear.
What sights, my lord?
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
Attend his majesty!
A kind good-night to all!
[Exeunt all Lords and Atendants.]
It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augurs, and understood relations, have
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night?
Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person
At our great bidding?
Did you send to him, sir?
I hear it by the way; but I will send:
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 know,
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,
All causes shall give way: I am in blood
Step't 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.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: —
We are yet but young in deed.