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SCENE V.-The Heath. Thunder.

Enter HECATE, meeting the three Witches. 1st Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you angerly.

look

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,

In riddles and affairs of death;

And I, the mistress of your charms,

The close contriver of all harms,
Was never called to bear my part,
Or shew the glory of our art?

And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now. Get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron

1 Meet me i' the morning; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.

Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms, and everything beside:

I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.

Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
I'll catch ere it come to ground:
And that, distilled by magic sleights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As, by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion :

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security

Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

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SCENE VI.-Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Enter LENOX and another Lord. Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan

Was pitied of Macbeth :-marry, he was dead:
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance
killed,

For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damnéd fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,

That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 't would have angered any heart alive, To hear the men deny it. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think, That, had he Duncan's sons under his key (As, an't please heaven, he shall not), they should find

What 't were to kill a father: so should Fleance. But peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he failed

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

The son of Duncan,

Lord. From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff is gone

To pray the holy king, upon his aid,

To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these (with Him above
To ratify the work), we may again

Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours;
All which we pine for now: and this report
Hath so exasperate the King, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.
Sent he to Macduff?

Len.

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1st Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. 2nd Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined. 3rd Witch. Harper cries:-'Tis time, 'tis time. 1st Witch. Round about the cauldron go;

All.

All.

In the poisoned entrails throw.Toad, that under the cold stone, Days and nights hast thirty-one Sweltered venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i'the charmed pot! Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 2nd Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake: Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 3rd Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witch's mummy; maw and gulf Of the ravined salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew Slivered in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe, Ditch-delivered by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chawdron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 2nd Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

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Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down!

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Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls :—and thy air,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:-
A third is like the former :-Filthy hags!
Why do you shew me this?-A fourth?-Start,
eyes!

What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

Another yet?—A seventh ?—I'll see no more :—
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shews me many more; and some I see
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!-Ay, now I see 't is true;
For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.-What, is this so?
1st Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazédly?
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And shew the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Maco. Where are they? Gone? Let this per

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Maco.

Fled to England?

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,

Unless the deed go with it: from this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be

The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
To crown iny thoughts with acts, be it thought
and done:

The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line. No boasting like a

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Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,

His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight
(Her young ones in her nest) against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

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But cruel are the times when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and move.—I take my leave of you:
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up-
ward

To what they were before.-My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!

L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's father

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