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Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.
How came she by that light?
Why, it stood by her. She has light by her continually; 'tis her command.
You see, her eyes are open.
Ay, but their sense is shut.
What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.
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.
Yet here's a spot.
Hark! she speaks. I will set down what comes from her.
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 afeard? 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.
Do you mark that?
The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean?
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.
This disease is beyond my practice.
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!