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 under stand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret Mach. 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 favours, nor your hate. 1. Witch. Hail! 2. Witch. Hail! 3. Witch. Hail! 1. Witch. 2. Witch. 3. Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 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; No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence Speak, I charge you. [Witches vanish. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them: Whither are they va nish'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? 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 RossE, and ANGUS. Rosse. 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, 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; 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 Norway; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, Have overthrown him. Mach. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor: Thanks for your pains. Do you not hope your children shall be Kings, When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no less to them? Ban. That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, Cousins, a word, I pray you. Macb. Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Cannot be ill; cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me carnest of success, Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is, But what is not. Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. If chance will have me King, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. Ban. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Mach. 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. Ban. Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends. SCENE IV. Fores. A Room in the Palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENOX, and Attendants. Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? Mal. My Liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke Dun. There's no art, To find the mind's construction in the face: An absolute trust - O worthiest cousin! |