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Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.
Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ?-What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth,
That man may question? You seem to understand me,
Upon her skinny lips :-You should be women,
That you are so.
Mac. 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 feaf Things that do sound so fair?—I'the 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;
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 !
Mac. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death 12, 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
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.
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' the 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 13, Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him.
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
We are sent,
What, can the devil speak true? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you dress me In borrow'd robes ?
Who was the thane, lives yet;
Macb. 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?
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen.
This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill; cannot be good :—If ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Two truths are told,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
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. 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.
Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends.