Act 1, Scene 3
A heath near Forres.
- Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
- Where hast thou been, sister?
- Killing swine.
- Sister, where thou?
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- A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,
- And mounch’d, and mounch’d, and mounch’d. “Give me!” quoth I.
- “Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries.
- Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ th’ Tiger;
- But in a sieve I’ll thither sail,
- And like a rat without a tail,
- I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.
- I’ll give thee a wind.
- Th’ art kind.
- And I another.
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- I myself have all the other,
- And the very ports they blow,
- All the quarters that they know
- I’ th’ shipman’s card.
- I’ll drain him dry as hay:
- Sleep shall neither night nor day
- Hang upon his penthouse lid;
- He shall live a man forbid;
- Weary sev’nnights, nine times nine,
- Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine;
- Though his bark cannot be lost,
- Yet it shall be tempest-toss’d.
- Look what I have.
- Show me, show me.
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- Here I have a pilot’s thumb,
- Wrack’d as homeward he did come.
- Drum within.
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- A drum, a drum!
- Macbeth doth come.
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- 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.
- So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
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- How far is’t call’d to Forres? What are these
- So wither’d 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.
- Speak, if you can: what are you?
- All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
- All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee. Thane of Cawdor!
- All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter!
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- Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
- Things that do sound so fair?—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 favors nor your hate.
- Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
- Not so happy, yet much happier.
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- Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.
- So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!
- Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
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- 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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- The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
- And these are of them. Whither are they vanish’d?
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- Into the air; and what seem’d corporal melted,
- As breath into the wind. Would they had stay’d!
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- Were such things here as we do speak about?
- Or have we eaten on the insane root
- That takes the reason prisoner?
- Your children shall be kings.
- You shall be king.
- And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?
- To th’ self-same tune and words. Who’s here?
- Enter Rosse and Angus.
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- The King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,
- The news of thy success; and when he 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-same day,
- He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
- Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
- Strange images of death. As thick as tale
- Came post with post, and every one did bear
- Thy praises in his kingdom’s great defense,
- And pour’d them down before him.
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- We are sent
- To give thee from our royal master thanks,
- Only to herald thee into his sight,
- Not pay thee.
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- And for an earnest of a greater honor,
- He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor;
- In which addition, hail, most worthy thane,
- For it is thine.
- What, can the devil speak true?
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- The Thane of Cawdor lives; why do you dress me
- In borrowed robes?
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- Who was the thane lives yet,
- But under heavy judgment bears that life
- Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin’d
- With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
- With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
- He labor’d in his country’s wrack, I know not;
- But treasons capital, confess’d and prov’d,
- Have overthrown him.
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- Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!
- The greatest is behind.
- To Rosse and Angus.
- Thanks for your pains.
- Aside to Banquo.
- 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?
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- Aside to Macbeth
- That, trusted home,
- Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
- Besides 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 honest trifles, to betray ’s
- In deepest consequence.—
- Cousins, a word, I pray you.
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- Two truths are told,
- As happy prologues to the swelling act
- Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.
- This supernatural soliciting
- Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,
- Why hath it given me earnest of success,
- Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
- If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
- Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
- And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
- Against the use of nature? Present fears
- Are less than horrible imaginings:
- My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
- Shakes so my single state of man that function
- Is smother’d in surmise, and nothing is
- But what is not.
- Look how our partner’s rapt.
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- If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me
- Without my stir.
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- New honors come upon him,
- Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
- But with the aid of use.
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- Come what come may,
- Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
- Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
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- Give me your favor; my dull brain was wrought
- With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
- Are regist’red where every day I turn
- The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King.
- Aside to Banquo.
- Think upon what hath chanc’d; and at more time,
- The interim having weigh’d it, let us speak
- Our free hearts each to other.
- Very gladly.
- Till then, enough.—Come, friends.