Macduff, this noble passion, / Child of integrity, hath from my soul / Wiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughts / To thy good truth and honour.

the king-becoming graces, / As justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness, / Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, / Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, / I have no relish of them;

black Macbeth / Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state / Esteem him as a lamb, being compar’d / With my confineless harms.

A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching.

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