Her husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger:

But in a sieve I'll thither sail,

And, like a rat without a tail,

I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

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 pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid.

Weary sev'n-nights, 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. Shew me, shew me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wrack'd as homeward he did come.

3 Witch. 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. the charm's wound up.

Peace!

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.

Macbeth. So foul and fair a day I have not

seen.

Banquo. How far is't call'd to Forres?

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

What

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? 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 shew? 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 favours nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3 Witch. Hail!

1 Witch.

2 Witch.

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
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.

Macb. Into the air;

melted

Whither are they vanish'd?

and what seem'd corporal,

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 defence,
And pour'd them down before him.

Angus.

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 honour, 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 borrow'd robes?

Ang.

Who was the Thane lives yet;

But under heavy judgment bears that life

Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was com

bin'd

With those of Norway, or did line the rebel

With hidden help and vantage, or that with both

He labour'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. -[To ROSSE and ANG.] Thanks for your pains.

To BANQ.] 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.

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;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's

In deepest consequence.

Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb.

Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act

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,
Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

But what is not.

Ban.

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,

garments, cleave not to their

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.