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I' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay:
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come.
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,
And thrice again, to make up nine:-
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,
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,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
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,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
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!
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
That takes the reason prisoner?
You shall be king.
Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Enter Ross and ANGUS.
Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
Which should be thine or his: silenc'd with that,
As thick as hail
Came post with post; and every one did bear
We are sent
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Not pay thee.
Ross. 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.
What, can the devil speak true?
Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress
In borrow'd robes?
Who was the thane lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
Have overthrown him.
Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor:
The greatest is behind [aside].-Thanks for your pains.—
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me
That, trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme [aside].—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,
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is
But what is not.
Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. [aside.] If chance will have me king, why, chance Without my stir. [may crown me, Ban. Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use.
New honours come upon him,
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.—
Our free hearts each to other.
Macb. Till then, enough.—Come, friends.
SCENE IV.-Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN,
Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, Ross and ANGUS.
O worthiest cousin!
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me: thou art so far before,
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv'd;
Are to your throne and state children and servants;
I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.
Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you:
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach;
So, humbly take my leave.
My worthy Cawdor!
Macb. [aside.] The Prince of Cumberland!-That is a
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap,
Dun. True, worthy Banquo, he is full so valiant;