Macbeth
I'll go no more. I am afraid to think of what I have done; look on't again I dare not.
Lady Macbeth
Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead are as but pictures. 'Tis the eye if childhood that fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces if the grooms withal, for it must seem their guilt. (Exit. Knocking within)
Macbeth
Whence is that knocking? How is't wit me when every noise apalls me? What hands are here? Ha! They pluck out mine eyes! Will all Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No. This my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red. (Enter Lady Macbeth)
Lady Macbeth
My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.