So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark :
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping kernes to trust their heels,
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

Dun.

Dismay'd not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?

Sold.

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.

Yes;

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If I say sooth, I must report they were

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As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks;

So they doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:

Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorise another Golgotha,

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 surgeons.

Who comes here?

Mal.

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[Exit Soldier, attended.

The worthy Thane of Ross.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes!

So should he look that seems to speak things strange.

Ross. God save the king!

Enter Ross.

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?
Ross. From Fife, great king,

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.

Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict:
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,

Confronted him with self-comparisons,

Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,

The victory fell on us ;

Dun.

Ross. That now

Great happiness!

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;

Nor would we deign him burial of his men,

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Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes Inch,

Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive

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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.

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[Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Heath. Thunder,

Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

Second Witch. Killing swine.

Third Witch. Sister, where thou?

First Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap,

And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'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,

All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.

I'll 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'n-nights nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.—
Look what I have.

Second Witch. Shew me, shew 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: 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.

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 ;

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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

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That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can ;-what are you?

First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! Second Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

Third 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

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Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner

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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,

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Your favours nor your hate.

First Witch. Hail!

Second Witch. Hail!

Third Witch. Hail!

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First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Second Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo !

First Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail !
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:

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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?
Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
As breath into the wind.-Would they had stay'd!

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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 not so?
Ban. To the self-same tune and words.-Who's here?

Enter Ross and ANGUS.

Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,

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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 silenc'd with that

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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 hail
Came post with 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 sight, 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.

Ban.

What, can the devil speak true?

Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me

In borrow'd robes?

Ang.

Who was the thane lives yet;

But under heavy judgment bears that life

Which he deserves to lose.

Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway;

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