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

3 Witch. A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come!

[Drum within

All. The weyward fifters, hand in hand,

Pofters 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.

SCENE IV.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other

Mac.

S

attendants.

O foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris?.
are these,

So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire,

-What

That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' 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 fhould be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret,
That you are fo.

Macb. Speak, if you can; what are you?

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 fhalt 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 fantaftical, or That indeed [To the Witches.

Which outwardly ye fhew? my noble Partner You greet with prefent grace, and great prediction

Of

Of noble Having, and of royal Hope,

That he feems 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. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not fo happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou fhalt get Kings, though thou be

none;

So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo?

1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all-hail!

Macb. Stay, you imperfect 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 profpect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence You owe this ftrange intelligence? or why Upon this blafted heath you ftop our way, With fuch prophetic Greeting?-fpeak, I charge [Witches vanish.

you.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has ; And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd? Mach. Into the air: and what feem'd corporal Melted, as breath, into the wind.

'Would they had staid!

Ban. Were fuch things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the infane root,

That takes the Reason prisoner?

Macb. Your children shall be Kings.

Ban. You fhall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo? Ban. To th' felf fame tune, and words; who's here? By Sinel's Death.] The Father of Macbeth.

Mr. Pope. SCENE

Roffe. TH

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'HE King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The ne
news of thy fuccefs; and when he

reads

Thy perfonal '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 reft o'th' felf-fame day,
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyfelf didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came Poft on Poft; and every one did bear
Thy praifes in his Kingdom's great defence:
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are fent,

To give thee, from our royal Master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his fight,.

Not pay thee.

Roffe. And for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor :
In which Addition, hail, moft 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 deferves to lofe. 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 treafons capital, confefs'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!

[Afide.

The

The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.

[To Angus.

Do you not hope, your children fhall be Kings?

[To Banquo.

When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no lefs to them?

Ban. That, trufted home,

Might yet enkindle you unto the Crown,
Befides the Thane of Cawdor.

But 'tis ftrange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The inftruments of Darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honeft trifles, to betray us

In deepeft confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Mach. Two truths are told,

[To Roffe and Angus.

As happy prologues to the fwelling act

[Afide.

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen-
This fupernatural 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 fuggeftion,
Whofe horrid image doth upfix my hair,
And make my feated heart knock at my ribs
Against the ufe of nature; prefent feats
Are lefs than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whofe murder yet is but fantastical
Shakes fo my fingle ftate of man, that Function
I's fmother'd in furmife; 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,

Without my ftir.

Ban. New Honours, come upon him,

[Afide.

Like our ftrange garments cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.

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Time and the hour runs thro' the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we ftay upon your leisure.
Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was
wrought

With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are regiftred 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 speak

Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. 'Till then, enough: come, friends. [Exeunt.

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Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox,

and attendants.

King Or not those in commiffion

S execution done on Cawdor yet?

Mal. My liege,

yet return'd?

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that faw 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 ftudied in his death,
To throw away the deareft thing he own'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King. There's no art,

To find the mind's conftruction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built
An abfolute trust.

Enter

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