Mal. This is the sergeant, Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity.-Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, As thou didst leave it.

Sold.
Doubtful it stood;
As two swimmers, that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald
(Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
The multiplying villanies of nature

Do swarm upon him) from the western isles
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied;
And fortune, on his damned quarry smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak;
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smok'd with bloody execution,

Like valour's minion, carv'd out his passage,
Till he fac'd the slave;

Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault.

Dun.

Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sold.

Yes;

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks;
So, they doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,

strange.

Rosse. God save the king!

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?
Rosse. From Fife, great king;

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold.

Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor,

The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm
Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,
The victory fell on us;—

Dun.

Great happiness!

Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disbursed at Saint Colmes' Inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest.-Go, pronounce his present death,

And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Rosse. I'll see it done.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

2 Witch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sister, where thou?

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: "Give me," quoth I:

"Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

1 Witch. Th' art kind.

3 Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myself have all the other;

And the very ports they blow,

All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.

I'll drain him dry as hay:

Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid.

Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Show me, show me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within.

3 Witch. A drum! a drum!

Macbeth doth come.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand,

Posters of the sea and land,

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores?-What are these,

So wither'd and so wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand

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!

You shall be king.

Macb. 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 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.

Ang.

We are sent, To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only 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?
Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you
dress me

In borrow'd robes?

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 to 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.

Mal. 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 had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, As 'twere a careless trifle.

To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.-

Enter MACBETH, Banquo, Rosse, and ANGUS. O worthiest cousin!

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
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing.-Noble Banquo,
Thou hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so; let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.
Ban.

There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
Dun.
My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow.-Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our estate upon

Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter,
The prince of Cumberland: which honour must

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!
Let not light see my black and deep desires;
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

[Exit. Dun. True, worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed ;

It is a banquet to me. Let us after him,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

Castle.

Enter Lady MACBETH, reading a letter. Lady M. "They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me, 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I

of greatness, that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
What thou art promis'd.-Yet do I fear thy na-