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1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreckt as homeward he did come.

[Drum within 3 Witch. A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come!

All. The weyward fifters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up

nine ! Peace! the Charm's wound up.

Mac. S Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris ?

S CE N E IV.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other

attendants.
O foul and fair a day I have not seen.

-What
are there,
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th' inhabitants oth earth,
And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught
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 u? 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 found 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 predi&tion

Of

*

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 !
i 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 ! Macb. Stay, you imperfe&t Speakers, tell me more; By Sinel's death, I know, I'm Thane of Glamis ; But how, of Cawdor ?- the Thane of Cawdor lives. A profp'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 blafted heath you stop our way, With such prophetic 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?
Ban. To th' self same tune, and words; who's here?
* By Sinel's Death.] The Father of Macbeth.

SCENE

Mr. Popeo

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Rolfe.T

news

Enter Rosse and Angus.
THE King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,

of thy ;
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'th' self-fame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyself didit make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came Post on 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 fight,
Not pay thee.

Rose And for an earnest of a greater honour;
He bad me, from himn, 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 his 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. Macb. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor ! [Aside.

The

The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.

[To Angus. Do you not hope, your children shall be Kings?

[To Banquo. 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, Belides 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 honeft trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. (To Rosse and Angus. Macb. Two truths are told,

[Aside. As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemenThis supernatural Soliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good.-If ill, Why hath it giv'n me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor. If good, why do I yield to that suggestion, Whose horrid image doth upfix my hair, And make my feated heart knock at my ribs Against the use of nature ; present feats Are less than horrible imaginings. My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical Shakes fo my single state of man, that Function Is fmother'd'in surmise ; and nothing is, But what is not.

Ban. Look, how our Partner's rapt ! Macb. If Chance will have me King, why, Chance may crown me,

(Aside. Without my ftir.

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,

King. Or not those in commission yet return'd?

Time and the hour runs thro' the roughest day.

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was

wrought With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are registred where every day I turn The leaf to read them-Let us tow'rd the King ; Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time,

[To Banquo. (The Interim having weigh'd it,) let us fpeak Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.
Macb. 'Till then, enough: come, friends. (Exeunt,

S CE N E VI.

Changes to the Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox,

and attendants.
S execution done on Cawdor yet?

. I

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 confefs'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 dy'd,
As one, that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he own'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

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

Enter

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