LADY M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!—One; Two: Why, then 'tis time to do 't!—Hell is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeared! What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him!
DOCT. Do you mark that?
LADY M. 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.
DOCT. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
GENT. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.
LADY M. Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!
DOCT. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
GENT. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.
DOCT. Well, well, well,—
GENT. Pray God it be, sir.