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Dun.

Great happiness!
Ross. That now

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men

60 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's inch,

Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
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 III.

A beath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? .
Sec. Witch. Killing swine.
Third Witch. Sister, where thou ?
First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd.

«Give me,' quoth I:
· Aroint thee, witch !' the rump-fed ronyon cries.

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Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the 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.
Sec. Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
First Witch. Thou 'rt kind.
Third Witch. And I another.
First Witch. I myself have all the other ;

And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
l' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid :
Weary se’nnights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost.

Look what I have.
Sec. Witch. Show me, show me.
First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within. Third Witch. A drum, a drum!

30 Macbeth doth come.

20

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.

40

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 the inhabitants o' the 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 80.
Macb.

Speak, if you can : what are you? First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of

Glamis ! Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of

Cawdor! Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter !

50

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
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 60

Your favours nor your hate. First Witch. Hail ! Sec. Witch. Hail ! Third Witch. Hail ! First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Sec. Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be

none:

70

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo !
First 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 ? 80 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 sot 80 ? Ban. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

Enter Ross and Angus.
Ross. The king hath happily received, Macbeth,

The news of thy success : and when he reads 90
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend
Which should be thine or his : silenced with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o’the selfsame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,

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