1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreckt as homeward he did come. 3 Witch. A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come!

[Drum within

All. The weyward fifters, hand in hand,

Posters of the fea 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.

SCENE

IV.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other

attendants.

Мас.

So foul and fair

a day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris? What

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
That man may question? You feem 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 fo.

Mach. 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!

hereafter.

3 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! that shalt be King

Ban. Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do found fo fair? I' th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or That indeed [To the Witches. Which outwardly ye shew? my noble Partner

You greet with present grace, and great prediction

Of

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 fay, 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. Leffer 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!

Mach. 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. A profp'rous gentleman; and, to be King, Stands not within the profpect 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 fuch prophetic Greeting? -speak, I charge [Witches vanish.

you.

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 ftaid!

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the infane root, That takes the Reason prifoner ?

Mach. Your children shall be Kings.

Ban. You shall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo? Ban. To th' felf fame tune, and words; who's here?

?

Roffe. T

SCENE V.

Enter Rosse and Angus.
HE King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy fuccess; 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-fame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came Poft on Post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his Kingdom's great defence:
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent,

To give thee, from our royal Master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his fight,
Not pay thee.

Roffe. And for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bad 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?
Mach. The Thane of Cawdor lives;

Why do you dress me in his borrow'd robes ?

Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life, Which he deferves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway, or did line the Rebel With hidden help and 'vantage; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treafons capital, confefs'd, and prov'd, Have overthrown him.

Mach. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!

[Afide. The The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.

[To Angus.

Do you not hope, your children shall be Kings?

[To Banquo.

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 inftruments of Darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepeft confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you. [To Roffe and Angus.
Mach. Two truths are told,

[Afide.

As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen-
This fupernatural Soliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good. - If ill,
Why hath it giv'n me earnest of fuccefs,
Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor.
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion,
Whofe horrid image doth upfix my hair,
And make my feated heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature; present feats
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical
Shakes so my fingle state of man, that Function
Is smother'd in furmise; 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 ftir.

[Afide.

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 thro' the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we ftay upon your leisure.
Mach. Give me your favour: my dull brain was

wrought

With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are registred where every day I turn
The leaf to read them-Let us tow'rd the King;
Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time,
[To Banquo.

(The Interim having weigh'd it,) let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. 'Till then, enough: come, friends. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Changes to the Palace.

Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox,

King I

and attendants.

S execution done on Cawdor yet?
Or not those in commission yet return'd?

Mal. My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that faw him die; who did report,
That very frankly he confefs'd his treasons;
Implor'd your Highness' pardon, and fet forth
A deep repentance; nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one, that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he own'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King. There's no art,

To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built
An abfolute truft.

Enter