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Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
I cannot tell :
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Duncan. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both :-Go, get him surgeons.
[Exit SOLDIER, attended.
Who comes here?
The worthy thane of Rosse.
Lenox. What a haste looks through his eyes! So
should he look,
That seems to speak things strange.
God save the king!
From Fife, great king,
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Rosse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at St. Colme's inch,
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
Duncan. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest:-Go, pronounce his death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.
Shakspeare means Mars.
5 Defended by armour of proof.
Rosse. I'll see it done.
Duncan. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.
SCENE III.-A Heath.
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.
And, like a rat without a tail,
2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
3 Witch. And I another.
1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
I will drain him dry as hay:
Weary seven nights, nine times nine,
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd, as homeward he did come.
6 Avaunt, begone.
A scurvy woman fed on offals. 9 Accursed.
3 Witch. A drum. drum; Macbeth doth come.
All. The weird sisters,1 hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.
Macbeth. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Banquo. How far is't call'd to Fores-What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
Upon her skinny lips: You should be women,
Macbeth. 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 shalt be king hereafter. Barquo. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair?—I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical,2 or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not:
And say, which grain will grow, and which will not;
Your favours, nor your hate.
1 Prophetic sisters.
2 Supernatural, spiritus)
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!
Macbeth. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
Banquo. The earth has bubbles, as the water has, Aud these are of them :-Whither are they vanish'd? Macbeth. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid! Banquo. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner?
Macbeth. Your children shall be kings.
You shall be king.
Macbeth. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Banquo. To the self-same tune and words. Who's bere?
Enter ROSSE and ANGUS.
Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
What, can the devil speak true? Macbeth. The thane of Cawdor lives: Why do you
In borrow'd robes?
Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.—Thanks for your pains.— Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no less to them?
That, trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
5 As fast as they could be counted.