1 Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy.
2 If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt.
3 Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
4 There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.
5 Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't: Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood; So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found Upon their pillows.
6 Each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour.
7 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are.
8 I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.'