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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

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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,

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?

Mac. Your children shall be kings.
Ban.

You shall be king.
Mac. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?
Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's

here?

Enter Rosse and Angus.
Rosse. The king hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,
The news of thy success: and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o’ the self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afеard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as tale,
Came post with post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.
Ang.

We are sent,
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee.

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;
But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was
Combin'd with Norway; or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess’d, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.
Mac.

Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:
The greatest is behind.—Thanks for your pains.-
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them?
Ban.

That, trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence. -
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Mac.

Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.

This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill; cannot be good :-If ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings:
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is,
But what is not.
Ban.

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.

Ban.

Very gladly. Mac. Till then, enough.—Come, friends. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

FORES.

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.

My liege,
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die: who did report,
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons;
Implor’d your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he died
As one that hath been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.
Dun.

There's no art,
To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.-0 worthiest cousin!

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

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