Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? As fparrows, eagles; or the hare the lion. As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; Doubly redoubled ftrokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, I cannot tell : But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUN. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds; They smack of honour both :-Go, get him furgeons. [Exit SOLDIER, attended. Enter ROSSE. Who comes here? MAL. The worthy thane of Roffe. [he look, LɛN. What a haste looks through his eyes! So fhould That seems to speak things strange. ROSSE. God fave the king! DUN. Whence cam'ft thou, worthy thane? ROSSE. From Fife, great king, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a difmal conflict. DUN. Great happiness ! ROSSE. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves compofition; Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUN. No more that thane of Cawdor fhall deceive Our bofom intereft :-Go, pronounce his death, And with his former title ROSSE. I'll fee it done. greet Macbeth. DUN. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three WITCHES. I WITCH. Where haft thou been, fifter? 2 WITCH. Killing fwine. 3 WITCH. Sifter, where thou? 1 WITCH. A failor's wife had chefnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd :—Give me, quoth I: Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, mafter o'the Tiger; But in a fieve I'll thither fail, And, like a rat without a tail, 2 WITCH. I'll give thee a wind. 3 WITCH. And I another. 1 WITCH. I myself have all the other; And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the fhipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep fhall, neither night nor day, He shall live a man forbid : Weary fev'n-nights, nine times nine, 2 WITCH. Show me, fhow 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 fifters, hand in hand, Posters of the fea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, Enter MACBETH and BANQUO. [Drum within. MACB. So foul and fair a day I have not feen. BAN. How far is't call'd to Fores?-What are thefe, So wither'd, and fo 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 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 3 Cawdor! WITCH. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be kinghereafter. BAN. Good fir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do found fo fair?-I'the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye fhow? My noble partner That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not: And fay, which grain will grow, and which will not ; 1 WITCH. Hail! 2 WITCH. Hail! 3 WITCH. Hail! I WITCH. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater. 2 WITCH. Not fo happy, yet much happier. 3 WITCH. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none : So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo! I WITCH. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! MACB. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence Upon this blafted heath you stop our way With fuch prophetick 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? MACB. 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 reafon prisoner? MACB. Your children fhall be kings. MACB. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo? ROSSE. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, Which fhould be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, ANG. We are fent, To give thee, from our royal mafter, thanks; Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 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? |