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Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath wen.
SCENE III-A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three
1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?
2 Witch. Killing swine.
3 Witch. Sister, where thou?
1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:Give me, quoth I:
Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
And, like a rat without a tail,
2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
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 will drain him dry as hay:
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'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,
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
Upon her skinny lips :-You should be women,
That you are so.
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' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
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;
Your favours, nor your hate.
1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hall!
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
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? Mach. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, melted
As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid! Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner?
Macb. Your children shall be kings.
You shall be king,
Mach. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
We are sent,
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
For it is thine.
What, can the devil speak true? Mach. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you
In borrow'd robes ?
Who was the thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgement bears that life
Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.-Thanks for your pains.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?
That, trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange :
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen.
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.
Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance
may crown me,
Without my stir.
New honours come upon him
Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.
Macb. 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 Are register'd where every day I turn
The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time, 'The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.
Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends. [Exeunt.