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Hec. Prepare to fight then : I'll over-take you swiftly.
Stad. Hye thee Heccat : We shal be up betimes.
Hec. I'll reach you quickly.
Fire. They are all going a birding to-night. They talk of fowles i'th'aire, that fly by day: I am sure they'll be a company of fowle slutts there to night. Yf we have not mortallitie affer'd, I'll be hang'd, for they are able to putryfie, to infect a whole region. She spies me now.
Hec. What Fire-Stone, our sweet son ?
Fire. A little sweeter then some of you; or a doong hill were too good for me.
Hec. How much hast here?
Fire. Nineteene, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.
Hec. Deere and sweet boy: what herbes hast thou ?
Fire. Heer's Pannax too: I thanck thee, my pan akes I am sure with kneeling downe to cut 'em.
Hec. And Selago,
Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I am moone-calf (Mother).
Hec. Hye thee home with 'em.
Fire. Aloft (quoth you?) I would you would breake your neck once, that I might have all quickly. Hark, hark, mother; they are above the steeple alredy, Aying over your head with a noyse of musitians. Hec. They are they indeed. Help me, help me; I'm too late
Heccat, Heccat, come away.
With all the speed I may,
With all the speed I may.
Heere in the aire.
: S in the aire.
[A spirit like a Cat descends.
dues ; } above.
Ther's one comes downe to fetch his dues ; )
I muse, I muse,
What newes, what newes ?
Fire. Hark, hark, the Catt sings a brave treble in her owne language. Hec. going up.] Now I goe, now I fie,
Malkin my sweete spirit and I.
To ride in the aire
When the moone shines faire,
Over woods, high rocks, and mountaines,
No Ring of bells, &c. } above. Fire. Well mother, I thanck your kindnes : You must be gambolling i’ th' aire, and leave me to walk here like a foole and a mortall.
ACT V. SCENE II.
Enter Duchesse, Heccat, Firestone.
Hec. Then I have fitted you.
Hec. Perhaps in a moone's progresse.
Duch. What ? a moneth ?
Hec. Then seeke no farther.
Duch. This must be don with speed, dispatch'd this night,
Hec. I have it for you :
Duch. Canst thou do this ?
Hec. Worse and worse; doubts and incredulities,
Cum volui, ripis ipsis mirantibus, amnes
Te quoque Luna traho.
Fire. I know as well as can be when my mother's mad and our great catt angrie; for one spitts French then, and thother spitts Latten.
Duch. I did not doubt you, Mother.
Hec. No? what did you,
Duch. Forgive what's past : and now I know th' offensivenes That vexes art, I'll shun th’occasion ever.
Hec. Leave all to me and my five sisters, daughter.
· Fire. They fare but too well when they come heather: they
Fire. All at hand forsooth.
Hec. In to the vessell;
Fire. Whereabouts, sweet Mother ?
A charme Song, about a Vessell.
Titty, Tiffin, keepe it stiff in ;
Liard, Robin, you must bob in.
Hec. Put in that; oh put in that.
The juice of toad ; the oile of adder. . 2. Those will make the yonker madder.
Hec. Put in ; ther's all, and rid the stench.
All. Round, around, around, &c.
Fire. A tune! 'tis to the tune of dampnation then, I warrant you; and that song hath a villanous burthen.
Hec. Come my sweet sisters ; let the aire strike our tune, Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moone.
[Here they daunce the Witches dance, and Exeunt.
*** The following Songs are found in Sir William D'Avenant's alteration of this play, printed in 1674. The first and second of them were, I believe, written by him, being introduced at the end of the second Act, in a scene of which he undoubtedly was the author. Of the other song, which is sung in the third Act, the first words (Come away) are in the original copy of Macbeth, and the whole is found at length in Middleton's play, entitled The Witch, which has been lately printed from a manuscript in the collection of Major Pearson. Whether this song was written by Shakspeare, and omitted, like many others, in the printed copy, cannot now be ascertained. MALONE.
First Song by the Witches,
2 Witch. Long ago, long ago : Above twelve glasses since have run.
3 Witch. ill deeds are seldom slow;
2 Witch. He will
3 Witch. He must spill much more blood; And become worse, to make his title good.
1 Witch. Now let's dance.
Chor. We should rejoice when good kings bleed.