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Are you a man?

Lady Macbeth
Are you a man?
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!
This is the very painting of your fear.
This is the air-drawn dagger which you said
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,
Impostors to true fear, would well become
A woman’s story at a winter’s fire,
Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all’s done,
You look but on a stool.
Prithee, see there. Behold, look!  To the Ghost.  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 exits.
Lady Macbeth
What, quite unmanned in folly?
If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady Macbeth
Fie, for shame!
Blood hath been shed ere now, i’ th’ olden time,
Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been performed
Too terrible for the ear. The time has been
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end. But now they rise again
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns
And push us from our stools. This is more strange
Than such a murder is.
Lady Macbeth
My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.
I do forget.—
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all.
Then I’ll sit down.—Give me some wine. Fill full.
  Enter Ghost.
I drink to th’ general joy o’ th’ whole table
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss.
Would he were here! To all, and him we thirst,
And all to all.
Our duties, and the pledge.
They raise their drinking cups.
Macbeth, to the Ghost
Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee.
Thy bones are marrowless; thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with.
Lady Macbeth
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom. ’Tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macbeth, to the Ghost
What man dare, I dare.
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The armed rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble. Or be alive again
And dare me to the desert with thy sword.
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mock’ry, hence!
  Ghost exits.
Why so, being gone,
I am a man again.—Pray you sit still.
Lady Macbeth
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
With most admired disorder.
Can such things be
And overcome us like a summer’s cloud,
Without our special wonder? You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe
When now I think you can behold such sights
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks
When mine is blanched with fear.
What sights, my lord?
Lady Macbeth
I pray you, speak not. He grows worse and worse.
Question enrages him. At once, good night.
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Act 3
Scene 4
Line 70

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