3rd Witch    A drum! A drum!

    Macbeth doth come.

 

All Witches    The Weird sisters, 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.

 

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.

 

Macbeth    So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

 

Banquo    How far is't called to Forres? What are these,

    So withered and so wild in their attire,

    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 should be women,

    And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

    That you are so.

 

Macbeth                        Speak, if you can. What are you?

 

1st Witch    All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

 

2nd Witch    All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

 

3rd Witch    All hail, Macbeth! -that shalt be king hereafter.

 

Banquo    Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear

    Things that do sound so fair?

    [To the WITCHES.]    I'th' 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.

 

1st Witch    Hail!

 

2nd Witch    Hail!

 

3rd Witch    Hail!

 

1st Witch    Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

 

2nd Witch    Not so happy, yet much happier.

 

3rd Witch    Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.

    So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

 

1st Witch    Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

 

Macbeth    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 prosperous 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 blasted heath you stop our way

    With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

[WITCHES vanish.

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