Witches.
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
  Macbeth to terrify!
  Macbeth to terrify!
  Macbeth to terrify!
It's a way they had on the stage—oh!
When Melodrame was all the rage—oh!
The audience with spells to engage—oh!
  So we'll at a spell have a shy!
  So we'll, &c.

THE INCANTATION. 1st Witch.
Apron-strings of old maids—tabbies;
Tongues of spifflicated babbies;
Joinville of a greasy gent,
Reeking with unhallowed scent! 2nd Witch.
Beards of maggots, maws of mummies,
Fingers of flue-strangled chummies;
Heap in humbugs all to aid us—
Banjos, bones, and serenaders!

Holloway's grease, and Frampton's pills,
Fuel fierce of human ills!
Mild emetics—one a dose is;
Seventy-seven street-sweepers' noses!
Fashion new, that taste perverts—
See “the last new thing in shirts!”
Slangy coats, of aspect rare;
And the “gent's real head of air!” All Three
Double, double, toil and trouble—
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble! Enter Macbeth at back, sliding in.

Macb.
That's right, my hearties, keep the pot a boiling
I trust I'm not a family party spoiling.
Perhaps you'll tell me what it is you brew,
For I've dropped in to take pot luck with you;
That is, I'd know my destiny;—you see,
I'm not so easy as I'd wish to be.

1st Witch.
You've come to the right shop, my Lord, for we
Can read the future.

Macb.
Read? You know full well,
It takes you all you know to raise a spell!

2nd Witch.
Learn, Macbeth, for your hautiness of late,
Yours is a sort of horti-cultural fate!

Macb.
No matter—let me know it!

1st Witch.
If it ease you;
But don't blame me if what you hear don't please you. Gong—Crash—The Apparition of an Armed Head rises, and sings.

Air—“The Fall of Paris.” App.
Macbeth, you are green indeed, to wish to kno the sort of plight
That you are like to be in, ere you can say you're settled quite,
Listen to the say of one who knows about as much as you,

And settled once is settled quite—but in another point of view.
First and foremost of the lot, you'd best beware the Thane of Fife—
For if you don't take good care, he's like to prove your bane of life:
  Since your conduct such is,
  Keep out of his clutches;
Since you caused the death of Banquo, and a very many more.

Macb.
Shall I by empty prophecies be bothered?
No, never! Apparition, you be—smothered! Apparition descends.
Know, for your chaff, Sir, I don't care a straw;
Give me good news, or let me hear no more.
I thought this queer abode would bode me well;—
I've strange suspicions that this cave's a sell!

1st Witch.
We're not to blame for doing as you bade us;
Come up, then, Ethiopian—

Macb.
Sir, and aid us! Gong—The Apparition of an Ethiopian Serenader with banjo, rises, and sings.

Air—“Come, darkies, sing” App.
I wonder you this agitation show,
  In coming here to question us ti-night;
'Cause by this time you surely ought to know
There's no man born can beat Macbeth in fight! Chorus.
Sing, sing, ye witches sing:
  Sing till the cavern ring, ring, ring!
  Sing, sing, ye witches sing;
  Sing to Macbeth the King! Apparition descends.

Macb.
That's something like; the Thane of Fife, now, soon
Will play his fife to quite another tune.
But what is this, Gong—The Apparition of a “Gent” rises.
That rises like the issue of a snob,
And bears upon his baby brow the nob
And mark of gentishness?

App.
No trouble ere shall visit Cawdor's Thane
Till Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane. (Disappears)

Macb.
If e'er I from the cares of state am freed,
A dunce-inane must I then be indeed!
By these low spirits I am quite elated;
Perhaps you'll tell me, Sir—I wish he'd waited;
An awkward thought is rankling in my gizzard,
That Banquo's sons should reign—and sure it is hard
To abdicate for him—p'r'aps you'll assist.
For, though he's Scotch, his reign will not be missed;
Show me.

Witch.
No further seek it!

Macb.
Let me know;
I'm quite determined the whole hog to go!

1st Witch.
Show!

2nd Witch.
Show!

3rd Witch.
Show!

All.
Show his eyes, and give him pain;
Show, and then go back again! Gong—The Apparitions of Eight Kings, pass over, as they are mentioned, R. to L., behind gauze at back; the last bears a glass of brandy and water— Lastly, Banquo, who points to them, applying his finger to his nose, in derision of Macbeth.

Macb.
What's this? A king!—and not a bit like me!
Two more! Hallo! why, two and one make three!
A fourth!—a fifth! (to Witches) Come, that's enough at present;
Carried too far, a joke becomes unpleasant.
A sixth! Stop this long male train, I implore of you!—
A seventh! Has your mother any more of you?—
Don't try on me light sovereigns to pass.
I'll see no more! Yet, here's one bears a glass
Of other spirits! Worst of all my woes,
Banquo uplifts his finger to his nose—
An action in a ghost most impolite—
Taking what vulgar street boys call “a sight!”
Say—is this royal lot to him alloted?

1st Witch.
You would know all, you know, and now you've got it! Music.—The dance from “Der Freyschutz,” they then vanish.

Macb.
That's cool, at any rate! If ever I
Come here again, I'll know the reason why! Exit L.

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