O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!

Macbeth
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know’st that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
Lady Macbeth
But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne.

Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day

Macbeth
There’s comfort yet; they are assailable.
Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloistered flight, ere to black Hecate’s summons
The shard-born beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.
Lady Macbeth
What’s to be done?
Macbeth
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
Till thou applaud the deed.—Come, seeling night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow
Makes wing to th' rooky wood.
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.—
Thou marvel'st at my words, but hold thee still.
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
So prithee go with me.
 They exit.