Doc.

How came she by that light?

Gen.

Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

Doc.

You see, her eyes are open.

Gen.

Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doc.

What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gen.

It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M.

Yet here's a spot.

Doc.

Hark, she speaks.

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 afear'd? 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?

Doc.

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 of that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting.

Doc.

Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gen.

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!

Doc.

What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gen.

I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Lady M.

Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:—I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doc.

Even so!

Lady M.

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.