SCENE III. A heath near Forres. The Tragedy of Macbeth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Macbeth  | Act 1, Scene 3 

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 Thunder. Enter the three Witches  First Witch  Where hast thou been, sister? 

 Second Witch  Killing swine. 

 Third Witch  Sister, where thou? 

 First Witch  A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 

 And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 

 'Give me,' quoth I: 

 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. 

 Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the 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. 

 Second Witch  I'll give thee a wind. 

 First Witch  Thou'rt kind. 

 Third Witch  And I another. 

 First Witch  I myself have all the other, 

 And the very ports they blow, 

 All the quarters that they know 

 I' the shipman's card. 

 I will drain him dry as hay: 

 Sleep shall neither night nor day 

 Hang upon his pent-house lid; 

 He shall live a man forbid: 

 Weary se'nnights nine times nine 

 Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: 

 Though his bark cannot be lost, 

 Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 

 Look what I have. 

 Second Witch  Show me, show me. 

 First Witch  Here I have a pilot's thumb, 

 Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 



 Drum within  Third Witch  A drum, a drum! 

 Macbeth doth come. 

 ALL  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 call'd to Forres? What are these 

 So wither'd and so wild in their attire, 

 That look not like the inhabitants o' the 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 chappy 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? 

 First Witch  All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! 

 Second Witch  All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 

 Third Witch  All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! 

 BANQUO  Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear 

 Things that do sound so fair? I' the 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. 

 First Witch  Hail! 

 Second Witch  Hail! 

 Third Witch  Hail! 

 First Witch  Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

 Second Witch  Not so happy, yet much happier. 

 Third Witch  Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: 

 So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! 

 First 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  BANQUO  The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 

 And 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 stay'd! 

 BANQUO  Were such things here as we do speak about? 

 Or have we eaten on the insane root 

 That takes the reason prisoner? 

 MACBETH  Your children shall be kings. 

 BANQUO  You shall be king. 

 MACBETH  And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? 

 BANQUO  To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? 



 Enter ROSS and ANGUS  ROSS  The king hath happily received, 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: silenced with that, 

 In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, 

 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 

 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 

 Strange images of death. As thick as hail 

 Came post with post; and every one did bear 

 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 

 And pour'd them down before him. 

 ANGUS  We are sent 

 To give thee from our royal master thanks; 

 Only to herald thee into his sight, 

 Not pay thee. 

 ROSS  And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 

 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: 

 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! 

 For it is thine. 

 BANQUO  What, can the devil speak true? 

 MACBETH  The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me 

 In borrow'd robes? 

 ANGUS  Who was the thane lives yet; 

 But under heavy judgment bears that life 

 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined 

 With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 

 With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 

 He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; 

 But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, 

 Have overthrown him. 

 MACBETH  [Aside]  Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! 

 The greatest is behind. 



 To ROSS and ANGUS  Thanks for your pains. 



 To BANQUO  Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 

 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me 

 Promised no less to them? 

 BANQUO  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. 

 MACBETH  [Aside]	Two truths are told, 

 As happy prologues to the swelling act 

 Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. 



 Aside  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. 

 BANQUO  Look, how our partner's rapt. 

 MACBETH  [Aside]  If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 

 Without my stir. 

 BANQUO  New horrors come upon him, 

 Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould 

 But with the aid of use. 

 MACBETH  [Aside]                Come what come may, 

 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

 BANQUO  Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

 MACBETH  Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought 

 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 

 Are register'd where every day I turn 

 The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. 

 Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, 

 The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 

 Our free hearts each to other. 

 BANQUO  Very gladly. 

 MACBETH  Till then, enough. Come, friends. 



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