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 mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht:—Give me, quoth I.
^{6 note}

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tyger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail^{9 note}
,
^{1 note}

2 Witch.
I'll give thee a wind^{2 note}

1 Witch.
Thou art kind.

3 Witch.
And I another.

1 Witch.
I myself have all the other;
^{3 note}

Weary seven-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle^{7 note}

2 Witch.
Shew me, shew 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.
^{8 note}

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.

Mac.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Ban.
How far is't call'd to Fores^{9 note}?—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
^{1 note}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^{2 note}
forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb.
Speak, if you can;—What are you?

1 Witch.
All hail, Macbeth^{3 note}

2 Witch.
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor^{5 note}!

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,
^{6 note}

Which outwardly ye shew? My noble partner
You greet with present grace, and great prediction
Of noble having^{7 note}

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:
^{8 note}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 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 ^{9 note}

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 rebel's fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
Which should be thine, or his^{1 note}
: Silenc'd with that 9Q0499,

In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. ^{2 note}

Ang.
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 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 ^{3 note}
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.

Macb.
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,
Promis'd no less to them?

Ban.
That, trusted home^{4 note} 9Q0500,
^{5 note}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.

Macb.
Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the ^{6 note}

swelling act
Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.—
^{7 note}

If good, ^{8 note}

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.

Macb.
Come what come may;
^{3 note}