It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

I have almost forgot the taste of fears. / The time has been, my senses would have cool’d / To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair / Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir / As life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors; / Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, / Cannot once start me.

Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, / Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood / Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.

So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, / That every minute of his being thrusts / Against my near’st of life;

Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; / Augurs, and understood relations, have / By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth / The secret’st man of blood.—

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.—

Of all men else I have avoided thee: / But get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d / With blood of thine already.