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I' 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 sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine;
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tossed.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Show me, show me.

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

Peace! the charm's wound up.


[Drum within.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't called to Fores?

What are these,

So withered, 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 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' 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,
Your favors, nor your hate.

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.
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 vanished?
Macb. Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted
As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid!

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root,

That takes the reason prisoner?

You shall be king.

Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?
Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here?
Enter ROSSE and ANGUS.

Rosse. The king hath happily received, 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: Silenced with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o' the 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 poured them down before him.

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 honor, 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 me In borrowed robes?


Who was the thane, lives yet;

But under heavy judgment bears that life

Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel

With hidden help and vantage; or that with both
He labored in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confessed, and proved,
Have overthrown him.


Glamis, and thane of Cawdor; The greatest is behind.-Thanks for your pains.Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, Promised no less to them?


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 us
In deepest consequence.-

Cousins, a word, I pray you.


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 murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smothered in surmise; and nothing is,

But what is not.


Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may

crown me,

Without my stir.


New honors come upon him

Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.

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 favor;-my dull brain was wrought
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are registered where every day I turn

The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.-
Think upon what hath chanced; and, at more times,
The interim having weighed it, let us speak

Our free hearts each to other.


Very gladly.

Macb. Till then, enough.- Come, friends.


SCENE IV. Fores. A Room in the Palace. Flourish.



Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
Those in commission yet returned?

My liege,
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die; who did report,
That very frankly he confessed his treasons;
Implored your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance. Nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,
As 'twere a careless trifle.


There's no art,

To find the mind's construction in the face.

He was a gentleman on whom I built

An absolute trust.- O worthiest cousin!


The sin of my ingratitude even now

Was heavy on me; thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow

To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserved;
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! Only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties; and our duties

Are to your throne and state, children and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe toward your love and honor.

Dun. Welcome hither;

I have begun to plant thee, and will labor
To make thee full of growing.-Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserved, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.


The harvest is your own.


There if I grow,

My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow.- Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our estate upon

Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name, hereafter,
The prince of Cumberland; which honor must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only,

But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.

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Macb. The rest is labor, which is not used for 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. The prince of Cumberland! This is a step,
On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap.
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant;
And in his commendations I am fed;

It is a banquet to me. Let us after him,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome.
It is a peerless kinsman.


[Flourish. Exeunt

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