Thou art the best o' th' cutthroats:Yet he’s good that did the like for Fleance.20 If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.
Most royal sir, Fleance is ’scaped.
I do forget.Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.I have a strange infirmity, which is nothingTo those that know me. Come, love and health to all.Then I’ll sit down. Give me some wine. Fill full.I drink to the general joy o' th' whole table,And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;Would he were here! To all and him we thirst,And all to all.
My worthy lord,Your noble friends do lack you.
Avaunt, and quit my sight! Letthe earth hide thee.Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold.Thou hast no speculation in those eyesWhich thou dost glare with!
Think of this, good peers,But as a thing of custom. 'Tis no other;Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
A kind goodnight to all!
It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood.Stones have been known to move, and trees tospeak.Augurs and understood relations haveBy magot pies and choughs and rooks brought forthThe secret’st man of blood.—What is the night?
Good night, and better healthAttend his majesty!
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