Ross

Duncan
Who comes here?
Malcolm
The worthy Thane of Ross.
Lennox
What a haste looks through his eyes!
So should he look that seems to speak things strange.
Ross
God save the King.
Duncan
Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane?

No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest.
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Northumberland
Now, afore God, ’tis shame such wrongs are borne
In him, a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The King is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all,
That will the King severely prosecute
’Gainst us,
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Old Man
Threescore and ten I can remember well,
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

A falcon, tow’ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.

Ross
Ha, good father,
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Lady Macbeth
Are you a man?
Macbeth
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appall the devil.

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

Lady Macbeth
O, proper stuff!
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Lady Macduff
What had he done to make him fly the land?
Ross
You must have patience, madam.
Lady Macduff
He had none.
His flight was madness. When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds,
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Macduff 
Stands Scotland where it did?

Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave

Ross
Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave, where nothing
But who knows nothing is once seen to smile;
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Malcolm
Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.
Ross
Would I could answer
This comfort with the like. But I have words
That would be howled out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
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