Here had we now our country’s honor roofed,Were the graced person of our Banquo present,Who may I rather challenge for unkindnessThan pity for mischance.
Here is a place reserved, sir.
Here, my good lord. What is ’t that moves your highness?
Which of you have done this?
Thou canst not say I did it. Never shakeThy gory locks at me.
Sit, worthy friends. My lord is often thusAnd hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep seat.The fit is momentary; upon a thoughtHe will again be well. If much you note him,You shall offend him and extend his passion.Feed and regard him not.
Gentlemen, rise. His highness is not well.
O proper stuff!This is the very painting of your fearThis is the air-drawn dagger which you saidLed you to Duncan.
Are you a man?
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on thatWhich might appall the devil.