Lady Macbeth
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,
With most admired disorder.
Macbeth
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 blanch’d with fear.
Ross
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.
Lennox
Good night; and better health
Attend his majesty!