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I will advise you where to plant yourselves, Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' th' time, The moment on ’t; for ’t must be done tonight, And something from the palace
Oh, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne.
O treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou may ’st revenge —O slave!
(seeing the GHOST) Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee. Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear. And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
Whom, you may say, if ’t please you, Fleance killed, For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? Damnèd fact! How it did grieve Macbeth!
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