WITCH.

Th' art kind.

3. WITCH.

And I another.

1. WITCH.

I myself have all the other,

And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know

I' th' shipman's card.

I'll drain him dry as hay:

Sleep shall neither night nor day

Hang upon his penthouse lid;

He shall live a man forbid;

Weary sev'nnights, nine times nine,

Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine;

Though his bark cannot be lost,

Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.

Look what I have.

2. WITCH.

Show me, show me.

1. WITCH.

Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wrack'd as homeward he did come.

 

Drum within.

 

3. WITCH.

A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come.

ALL.

The weird sisters, hand in hand,

Posters of the sea and land,

Thus do go, about, about,

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,

And thrice again, to make up nine.

Peace, the charm's wound up.

 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

 

MACB.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

BAN.

How far is't call'd to [Forres]? What are these

So wither'd and so wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth,

And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught

That man may question? You seem to understand me,

By each at once her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips. You should be women,

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

That you are so.

MACB.

Speak, if you can: what are you?

1. WITCH.

All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

2. WITCH.

All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee. Thane of Cawdor!

3. WITCH.

All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter!

BAN.

Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear

Things that do sound so fair? – I' th' name of truth,

Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner

You greet with present grace, and great prediction

Of noble having and of royal hope,

That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not.

If you can look into the seeds of time,

And say which grain will grow, and which will not,

Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear

Your favors nor your hate.

1. WITCH.

Hail!

2. WITCH.

Hail!

3. WITCH.

Hail!

1. WITCH.

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2. WITCH.

Not so happy, yet much happier.

3. WITCH.

Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1. WITCH.

Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

MACB.

Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:

By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis,

But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives

A prosperous gentleman; and to be king

Stands not within the prospect of belief,

No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence

You owe this strange intelligence, or why

Upon this blasted heath you stop our way

With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

 

Witches vanish.

 

BAN.

The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,

And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?

MACB.

Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted,

As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!

BAN.

Were such things here as we do speak about?

Or have we eaten on the insane root

That takes the reason prisoner?

MACB.

Your children shall be kings.

BAN.

You shall be king.

MACB.

And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

BAN.

To th' self-same tune and words. Who's here?

 

Enter Rosse and Angus.

 

ROSSE.

The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,

The news of thy success; and when he reads

Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,

His wonders and his praises do contend

Which should be thine or his. Silenc'd with that,

In viewing o'er the rest o' th' self-same day,

He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,

Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,

Strange images of death. As thick as tale

[Came] post with post, and every one did bear

Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense,

And pour'd them down before him.

ANG.

We are sent

To give thee from our royal master thanks,

Only to herald thee into his sight,

Not pay thee.

ROSSE.

And for an earnest of a greater honor,

He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor;

In which addition, hail, most worthy thane,

For it is thine.

BAN.

What, can the devil speak true?

MACB.

The Thane of Cawdor lives; why do you dress me

In borrowed robes?

ANG.

Who was the thane lives yet,

But under heavy judgment bears that life

Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd

With those of Norway, or did line the rebel

With hidden help and vantage, or that with both

He labor'd in his country's wrack, I know not;

But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd,

Have overthrown him.

MACB [Aside.]

Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!

The greatest is behind.