The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? — What,
will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no
more o' that: you mar all with this starting.
Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that:
heaven knows what she has known.
Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes
of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the
dignity of the whole body.
Well, well, well, —
Pray God it be, sir.
This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those
which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so
pale: — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come
out on's grave.
To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come,
come, give me your hand: what's done cannot be undone: to bed, to
bed, to bed.
Will she go now to bed?
Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine than the physician. —
God, God, forgive us all! — Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her: — so, good-night:
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.
Good-night, good doctor.