Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Macb. Too terrible for the eare. The times has bene,
Macb. That when the Braines were out, the man would dye,
Macb. And there an end: But now they rise againe
Macb. With twenty mortall murthers on their crownes,
Macb. And push vs from our stooles. This is more strange
Macb. Then such a murther is.
La. La.
La. My worthy Lord
La. Your Noble Friends do lacke you.
Macb. Macb.
Macb. I do forget:
Macb. Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends,
Macb. I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothing
Macb. To those that know me. Come, loue and health to all,
Macb. Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full:
Macb. Enter Ghost.
Macb. I drinke to th'generall ioy o'th'whole Table,
Macb. And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse:
Macb. Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst,
Macb. And all to all.