Say to the king I would attend his leisure For a few words.
Ay, madam, but returns again tonight.
Why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard. What’s done is done.
In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie, In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave.
Come on, gentle my lord, Sleek o'er your rugged looks. Be bright and jovial Among your guests tonight.
What’s to be done?
Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note.
There’s comfort yet; they are assailable.
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night
Thou marvel’st at my words: but hold thee still. Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me.