Doctor: What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
Gentle-Woman: 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.
Lady MacBeth: Yet here's a spot.
Doctor: Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Lady MacBeth: Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One- two -why then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky. Fie , my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
Doctor: Do you mark that?
Lady MacBeth: The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands neer be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that. You mar all with this starting.
Doctor: Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
Gentle-Woman: She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known.
Lady MacBeth: Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
Doctor: What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
Gentle-Woman: I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body.
Doctor: Well, well, well-
Gentle-Woman: Pray God it be, sir.
Doctor: This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.
Lady MacBeth: Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.
Doctor: Even so?
Lady MacBeth: To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.