First Witch.
Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.

Hec.
Have I not reason, beldams ^note as you are,
Saucy and over-bold? ^note How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward ^note son,
Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do, ^note
Loves ^note for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning: thither he
Will come to know his destiny:
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms and every thing beside.

I am for the ^note air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal ^note end:
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that distill'd by magic sleights ^note
Shall raise ^note such artificial sprites
As by the strength of their illusion
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:
And you all know security
Is mortals' ^note chiefest enemy. [Music and a song within:
‘Come away, come away,’ &c. ^note
Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, ^note
Sits in a ^note foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. ^note

First Witch.
Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. ^note [Exeunt. ^note

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