Doct. Do you marke that?
Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now?
What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'that
my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting
Doct. Go too, go too:
You haue knowne what you should not
Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure
of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne
La. Heere'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 hart is sorely charg'd
Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body
Doct. Well, well, well
Gent. Pray God it be sir
Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds
Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue