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- Slide: 1
- Most royal sir, Fleance is ’scaped.
- Then comes my fit again. I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,As broad and general as the casing air.But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound inTo saucy doubts and fears.—But Banquo’s safe?
- Ay, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,With twenty trenchèd gashes on his head,The least a death to nature.
- Slide: 2
- His absence, sir,Lays blame upon his promise. Please ’t yourhighnessTo grace us with your royal company?
- Here, my good lord. What is ’t that moves yourhighness?
- (to GHOST) Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake Thy gory locks at me.
- Slide: 3
- O proper stuff!This is the very painting of your fear.This is the air-drawn dagger which you saidLed you to Duncan. Oh, these flaws and starts,Impostors to true fear, would well becomeA woman’s story at a winter’s fire,Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!Why do you make such faces? When all’s done,You look but on a stool.
- Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you?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.
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