Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes
from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly
La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why
then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie,
a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes
it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who
would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much
blood in him
Doct. Do you marke that?
Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now?
What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'that
my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting
Doct. Go too, go too:
You haue knowne what you should not
Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure
of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne
La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes
of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Oh, oh, oh