pray you, keep seat. the fit is momentary; upon a thought. he will again be well if you note him you shall offend him.
[to ghost of Banquo] thou can not say I did it. never shake thy glory locks at me.
are you a man?!
ay, a bold one. I am not ill! you put dirty blood on my hands.
oh proper stuff!
Why, what care I if thou canst nod, speak too.If charnel-houses and our graves must sendThose that we bury back, our monumentsShall be the maws of kites.
your noble friends lack you
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' the 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.
Avaunt and quit my sight; let the earth hide thee.Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold,Thou hast no speculation in those eyesWhich thou dost glare with.