Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Ross. I'll see it done. Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. SCENE 3.-A Heath. Distant thunder. Enter the three Witches. Ist Witch. HERE hast thou been, sister? 2nd W. Killing swine. 3rd W. Sister, where thou? 1st W. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd. "Give me," quoth I: "Aroint thee, witch!" the rum-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, 2nd W. Show me, show me. Ist W. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 3rd W. A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. [Drum within. 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. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO. Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. these So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't?-Live you? or are you aught are That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy 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? 1st W. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 2nd W. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 3rd W. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter! Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Which outwardly ye show! My noble partner That he seems rapt withal-to me you speak not. And say which grain will grow, and which will not B Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear Ist W. Hail ! 2nd W. Hail! 3rd W. Hail! Ist W. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2nd W. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3rd W. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. All. So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more :By Sinel's death, I know I'm thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor lives, Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 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' selfsame tune and words.-Who's here? Enter Ross and ANGUS. Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, Ang. Not pay thee. Ross. And for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, For it is thine. Ban. [Aside.] What, can the devil speak true ? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes ? Ang. Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life For treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Macb. [Aside.] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor The greatest is behind.-[To Ross and ANGUS.] Thanks for your pains. [TO BANQUO.] Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promis'd no less to them? Ban. [Aside to MACBETH.] That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But tis strange; B 2 And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you Macb. [Aside.] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen. [Aside.] This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good :—if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, But what is not. Ban. Look how our partner's rapt. Macb. [Aside.] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. Ban. New honours come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macb. [Aside.] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour-my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.— |