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

Ban.
How far is't call'd to ^{d note}Foris—What are these?
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire?
That look not like inhabitants of earth,
And yet are on't? Live you, or are you ought
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 forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb.
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'th' name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed [To the witches.
Which outwardly ye shew? 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.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch.
Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch.
Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none;
All-hail! Macbeth and Banquo.

1 Witch.
Banquo and Macbeth, all-hail!

Macb.
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more;
By † ^noteSinel's death I know I'm Thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosp'rous 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 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?

Brn.
To th' self-same tune, and words; who's here?

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