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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, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? 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: So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo!
1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Mac. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me
more: 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? Mac. Into the air; and what seemd corporal,
Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Mac. Your children shall be kings.
You shall be king.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
We are sent,
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? Mac. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you
dress me In borrow'd robes? Ang.
Who was the thane, lives yet;
Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:
That, trusted home,
Two truths are told,
This supernatural soliciting
Look, how our partner's rapt. Mac. 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. Mac.
Come what come may; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Mac. Give me your favour:-my dull brain was
wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other.
Very gladly. Mac. Till then, enough.—Come, friends. [Exeunt.
A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain,
Lenox, and Attendants. Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? Mal.
There's no art,
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before, That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd; That the proportion both of thanks and payment