1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thar of Glamis ! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shall be king hereafter. Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem tọ 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 wrapt 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, 1 Witch. Hail! 3 Witch. Hail! 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. All. So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! [Going. Macb. Stay,-you imperfect speakers, tell me more; By Sinel's death, I know I am thane of Glamis; No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence With such prophetic greeting? [Thunder and Lightning-WITCHES vanish. Speak, I charge you. 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! Macb. Your children shall be kings. Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Enter MACDUFF and LENOX. Macd. The king hath happily received, 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: Silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard 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. Len. We are sent To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; Not pay thee. Macd. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, B Ban. What! can the devil speak true? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; why do you dress me In borrow'd robes ? Macd. Who was the thane, lives yet; For treasons capital, confess'd, and proved, Macb. 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, Promised no less to them? Ban. That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, The instruments of darkness tell us truths; In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen.- Cannot be ill; cannot be good.-If ill, My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, But what is not. Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. Mach. 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. Macb. Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Mach. 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 chanced; and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. Ban. Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends. SCENE IV. [March.-Exeunt. The Palace at Fores. Flourish of Trumpets and Drums. Enter KING DUNCAN, DONALBAIN, MALCOLM, ROSSE, and two CHAMBERLAINS. King. 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; King. There's no art, To find the mind's construction in the face: An absolute trust. Enter MACDUFF, MACBETH, Banquo, and LENOE. O, worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before, To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserved, Are to your throne and state, children, and ser vants; Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. King. Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing.-Noble Banquo, Ban. There if I grow, |