MACBETH. Pr’ythee, see there! Behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.— If charnel houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.

[_Ghost disappears._]

LADY MACBETH. What, quite unmann’d in folly?

MACBETH. If I stand here, I saw him.

LADY MACBETH. Fie, for shame!