his head; The least a death to nature. 

 MACBETH. Thanks for that. There the grown serpent lies; the worm that’s fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for th’ present.—Get thee gone; tomorrow We’ll hear, ourselves, again. 

[Exit Murderer.]

Murderer

 LADY MACBETH. My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making, ’Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. 

The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth’s place.

 MACBETH. Sweet remembrancer!— Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! 

 LENNOX. May’t please your Highness sit. 

 MACBETH. Here had we now our country’s honour roof’d, Were the grac’d person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! 

 ROSS. His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please’t your Highness To grace us with your royal company? 

 MACBETH. The table’s full. 

 LENNOX. Here is a place reserv’d, sir. 

 MACBETH. Where? 

 LENNOX. Here, my good lord. What is’t that moves your Highness? 

 MACBETH. Which of you have done this? 

 LORDS. What, my good lord? 

 MACBETH. Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake Thy gory locks at me. 

 ROSS. Gentlemen, rise; his Highness is not well. 

 LADY MACBETH. Sit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well. If much you note him, You shall offend him, and extend his passion. Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man? 

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