Ban.
So half-and-half a day I never met.

Macb.
A mixture of Scotch hail and heavy wet.

Ban.
I told you when we started, my fine feller,
'Twas wise to bring the family umbreller.

Macb.
You will allow me to observe, my pippin,
You get it's shelter, and I get it's drippin'. (The Witches come forward)

1st Witch.
Cross the poor gipsey's hand, my valiant soldier.

2nd Witch.
My noble sportsmen, have your fortune told yer.

3rd Witch.
That pretty gentleman will sure be fortunate.

1st Witch.
A blue-eyed lady loves you.

Ban.
There—no more.
Egypt's dark daughter has become a bore.

Macb.
Say, rather, Egypt's mummy—by the dress,
Of doubtful sex. (To Witches) What are ye?

Witches.
Can't you guess?

Macb.
You should be women, but I never saw
One who wore whiskers and a beard before;
And long among the fair sex might I seek
For one who shewed so little bare-faced cheek.
A lady in your likeness would be jeered,

Unless as a Daguerrotype by Beard.
A Newgate “fringe” infringes on our rights.
What are ye, hideous fair ones, gentle frights?

Witches. (bridling up)
Well, I am sure!

Ban.
My friends, don't heed his ravings,
He seems a deal bored with your little shavings.

1st Witch.
Hail, Thane of Glamis!

2nd Witch.
Thane of Cawdor, hail!

3rd Witch.
Macbeth by perseverance shall not fail
To be the King of Scotland!

All.
Hail! hail! hail!

Macb.
what mean these salutations, noble Thane?

Ban.
These showers of “hail” anticipate your reign

Macb. (to Witches)
Young woman, do you see aught in my eye
That smacks at all of verdure, that you try
To gammon me? I'm far too old a bird
Thus to be caught with chaff—it's too absurd.
In what the first fair creature says, no harm is,—
By Sinel's death, I know I'm Thane of Glamis;
But this fact is in my digestion sticking—
The Thane of Cawdor is alive—and kicking—
A jovial old cove:—and to be King!
I'm sure I never dreamt of such a thing.

Ban. (to Witches)
Excuse me, ladies—ain't you going it?
My lot now,—I don't care much for knowing it;
For, as for reading fortunes in the stars,
Men all have the same mother-planet—Ma's,—
Suckled alike in the same “Milky way,”
And born to trouble;—so, what you may say
Won't overwhelm me much with fear or hope,—
To cope with horrors is man's horos-cope!
With nonsense, therefore, don't attempt to cram one,
And, as you'd save your bacon, spare your gammon.

Witches.
Thou shall get kings, though thou thyself be none!

Ban.
Oh, stuff and fiddlesticks!

Macb. (aside)
I'm diddled—done!
Don't go, young women, till you've said from whence
You owe this very strange intelligence:
For, in an intellectual point of view,

We don't look for intelligence in you.
D'ye think that we don't know the time of day
That on this blasted heath you stop our way?
Answer! I'll send you, if you don't soon speak,
Upon a flying visit to next week! (Witches vanish, R. H.)
They're vanished!

Ban.
I'm sorry this you troubles;—
The earth, Sir, like the water, has its bubbles. Enter Rosse R.H.

Rosse.
Macbeth, the King has sent me as you see,
To wish you joy of this great victory.
He says he knows you're a right-down good chap—
For hardest blows don't care the smallest rap—
At sight of swords and bayonets don't stick—
And stand a mortar like a regular brick;—
He bids me, therefore, hail you Cawdor's Thane!

Macb.
Good gracious me! why, there it is again!
It's very queer! Why, Banquo, did you ever?

Ban.
I confidently may affirm, I never!

Macb.
Upon my life, the King is very kind!
Glamis aud Cawdor! (aside) The greatest is behind.
It Chance insists upon my regal sway,
Why, Chance may crown me—that's all I've to say! (stands abstracted)

Ban. (to Rosse)
By those weird ladies' strange announcements trapped,
He seems quite struck.

Rosse.
Yes—I observe he's rapt.

Ban.
New honours come upon men like new shoes to them—
Cramping them dreadfully till they grow used to them.
So have I seen the ball-room maiden's fixes
To don a pair of Houbigaut's ‘short sixes.’
Severe the struggle, but, the thumb once passed,
They fit as easy as a glove at last! (slaps Macbeth on the shoulder—he starts)
Come, let's be moving!

Macb.
How you made me start!

Ban.
Let's start together, then.

Macb.
With all my heart!

Rosse.
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

Mac.
I will attend you with a deal of pleasure.
March, there! (aside) Those witches! What on earth could bring em? (aloud)
Advance your standards!...Banquo, hoist the gingham!

Trio—“Auld Lang Syne.”—Rob Roy. Ban.
Let those old quaint 'uns go to pot,
  Nor e'er be brought to mind;
To rest content with what you've got,
  Best policy you'll find! Macb.
Can these old quaint 'uns be forgot,
  E'en were I so inclined,
Who told me two good things? (aside) I wot
  The greatest is behind! Rosse.
I can't stop talking any more;
  Come—else the King you'll find
Blame you, who ne'er fell short before,
  For falling short behind! (Ensemble—Chorus—and exeunt arm-in-arm, under the umbrella, R.

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