If there come truth from them / (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine) / Why, by the verities on thee made good, / May they not be my oracles as well, / And set me up in hope?

We have lost best half of our affair.

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day. / Now spurs the lated traveller apace, / To gain the timely inn; and near approaches / The subject of our watch.

If charnel houses and our graves must send / Those that we bury back, our monuments / Shall be the maws of kites.

I drink to the general joy o’ th’ whole table, / And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss: / Would he were here.

Safe in a ditch he bides, / With twenty trenched gashes on his head; / The least a death to nature.

'Tis better thee without than he within.

Horrible sight!—Now I see ’tis true; / For the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me, / And points at them for his.—

If he had been forgotten, / It had been as a gap in our great feast, / And all-thing unbecoming.