Imatges de pàgina
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Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 'Till he difburfed, at Saint Colmes inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general ufe.

King. No more that thane of Cawdor fhall deceive Our bofom intereft. Go, pronounce his prefent death; And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Roffe. I'll fee it done.

King. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won.

SCENE III. Thunder.

Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where haft thou been, fister?
2 Witch. Killing fwine.

3

Witch. Sifter, where thou?

[Exeunt.

I Witch. A failor's wife had chefnuts in her lap. And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht:-Give me,

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quoth I.

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyan cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, mafter o' th' tyger:
But in a fieve I'll thither fail,
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. Thou art kind.

3

Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very points they blow,
All the quarters that they know,
I' th' fhipman's card,

I will drain him dry as hay :
Sleep fhall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent houfe lid;
He hall live a man forbid:

1

Weary

Weary feven nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it fhall be tempest toit.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, fhew 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 fifters, hand in hand,

Pofters of the fea 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.

Enter MACBETH, and BANQUO.

Mach. So foul and fair a day I have not feen.
Ban.How far is't call'd to Forres?-What are thefe,.
So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire ;

That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't Live you or are you aught,
I hat man may question? Youseem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her fkinny lips: You fhould be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret.
That
you are fo.

Mach. Speak, if you can ;-What are you?
1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thang
of Glamis !

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane

of Cawdor!

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! thou shalt be king

Bans

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Ban. Good fir, why do you start, and feem to fear Things that do found so fair? I' th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

Which outwardly ye fhew My noble partner
You greet with prefent grace, and great prediction
Of noble having, and of royal hope,

That he feems rapt withal; to me you speak not:
If you can look into the feeds of time.

And fay, which grain will grow, and which will not;
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear,
Your favours nor your hate.

I 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 shalt get kings tho' thou be none : So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

2 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

Mach. 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 profperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the profpect 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
With fuch 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 feem'd corporal,

melted

As breath into the wind.-'Would they had ftaid!

Ban

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.

Mach And thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo?
Ban. To the felf-fame tune and words. Who's here?

Enter Rosse, and ANGUS.

Roffe. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy fuccefs: and, when he reads Thy perfonal venture in the rebel's 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' the self-fame day, He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afraid of what thyfelf diaft make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale, Came poft with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd

Ang down before him.

fent,

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

Not pay thee.

Roffe. 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 drefs me

In borrow'd robes ?

Ang. Who was the thane lives yet;

But

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 or vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treafonis capital, confefs'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him,

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor :

The greateft is behind.-Thanks for your pains.Do you not hope your children fhall be kings, When thofe 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 darknefs tell us truths ;
Win us with honeft trifles, to betray us.
Indeepest confequence.-Coufins, a word I pray you.
Macb. Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the fwelling act

Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen.-
This fupernatural foliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good.-If ill,
Why hath it giv'n me earneft of fuccefs,
Commencing in a truth? I'm thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that fuggeftion
Whofe horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my feated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the ufe of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whofe murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes fo my fingle ftate of man, that function
Is fmother'd in furmife; and nothing is,

But

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