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Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Dun. Great happiness!
Rosse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Rosse. I'll see it done.
Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.
A Heath. Thunder.
1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?
2 Witch. Killing swine.
3 Witch. Sister, where thou?
1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd :—
Give me, quoth I:
Aroint6 thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon7 cries.
'I Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
1 Witch. Thou art kind.
3 Witch. And I another.
1 Witch. I myself have all the oiher; And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. [Drum within.
3 Witch. A drum, a drum; Macbeth doth come.
All. The weird10 sisters, hand in haud, Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about;
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ?—What are these, So wither'd, 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.
Mac. Speak, if you can;—What are you?
1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth"! hail to thee, thane
2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane
3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king here
Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to feaf 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,
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!
Mac. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death 1*, 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 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 staid!
Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root, That takes the reason prisoner?
VOL. VI. C
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.
/I'iivsi. The king hath happily receiv'd, 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: Silenc'd 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 pour'd them down before him.
Ang. We are sent,
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
Ban. What, can the devil speak true?
Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; WJiy do you
dress me In borrow'd robes?