Mal. This is the Serjeant,

Who like a good and hardy Soldier fought
'Gainst my Captivity; Hail, hail, brave Friend!
Say to the King, the Knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.

Cap. Doubtful it stood;

As two fpent Swimmers, that do cling together,
And choak their Art: The mercilefs Macdonnel
(Worthy to be a Rebel, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Do fwarm upon him) from the Western Ifles
Of Kernes and Gallow-glaffes is fupply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry fmiling,
Shew'd like a Rebels Whore. But all's too weak;
For brave Macbeth, well he deferves that Name,
Difdaining Fortune, with his brandifht Steel,
Which fmoak'd with bloody Execution,
Like Valours Minion, carv'd out his Paffage,
'Till he fac'd the Slave;

Which never fhook Hands, nor bid farewel to him,
'Till he unfeam'd him from the Nave to th' Chops,
And fix'd his Head upon our Battlements.

King. O valiant Coufin! worthy Gentleman!
Cap. As whence the Sun gins his Reflection,
Shipwracking Storms and direful Thunders breaking;
So from that Spring, whence Comfort feem'd to come,
Difcomfort fwells: Mark, King of Scotland, mark;
No fooner Juftice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd thefe skipping Kernes to truft their Heels,
But the Norweyan Lord furveying Vantage,
With furbisht Arms and new Supplies of Men,
Began a fresh affault.

King. Difmaid not this our Captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
Cap. Yes, as Sparrows Eagles;

Or the Hare the Lion.

If I fay footh, I muft report they were

As Cannons overcharg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled Stroaks on the Foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

I cannot tell

But I am faint, my Gafhes cry for help

King. So well thy Words become thee, as thy Wounds, They fmack of Honour both: Go, get him Surgeons. Enter Roffe and Angus.

Who comes here ?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Roffe.

Len. What hafte looks through his Eyes?
So fhould he look, that feems to speak things ftrange.
Roffe. God fave the King.

King. Whence cam'ft thou, worthy Thane ?
Roffe. From Fife, great King,

Where the Norweyan Banners flout the Sky,
And fan our People Cold.

Norway himfelf, with terrible Numbers,
Affifted by that most difloyal Traitor,

The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal Conflict,
Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, lapt in proof,
Confronted him with Self-comparisons,

Point against Point, rebellious Arm 'gainst Arm,
Curbing his lavish Spirit: And to conclude,
The Victory fell on us..

King. Great Happiness.

Roffe. That now Sweno, the Norway's King, Craves Compofition :

Nor would we deign him burial of his Men, 'Tis he disburfed, at St. Colmes-hill,

Ten thousand Dollars, to our general ufe.

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor fhall deceive

Our bofom Interest. Go, pronounce his prefent Death,
And with his former Title, greet Macbeth.

Roffe. I'll fee it done.

King. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won

SCENE III. The Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where haft thou been, Sifter?

[Exeunti

2 Witch. Killing Swine.

Q 4

3 With

3

Witch. Sifter, where thou?

1 Witch. A Sailor's Wife had Chestnuts in her Lap,
And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht;
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 fail,

And like a Rat without a Tail,
I'll do

I'll do

2 Witch. I'll give thee a Wind,
I Witch. Th'art kind.

3 Witch. And I another.

and I'll do.

I Witch. I my felf 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 fhall neither Night nor Day,
Hang upon his Pent-house Lid;
He shall live a Man forbid ;
Weary Sev'nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his Bark cannot be loft,
Yet it shall be tempeft-toft.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, fhew me.

1 Witch. Here, I have a Pilot's Thumb,

Wrackt as homeward he did come.

3 Witch. A Drum, a Drum.

Macbeth doth come.

All. The weyward Sifters, Hand in Hand,

Pofters 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.

[Drum within.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other Attendants.

Macb. So foul and fair a Day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is't call'd to Soris ? ---- What are thefe ?

So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire,

That look not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth,

And

And yet are on't? Live you, or are you ought
That Man may question? You feem 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 fo.

Mach. Speak if you can; what are you '

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 fhalt be King hereafter. Ban. Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do found fo fair? i'th' name of Truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

[To the Witches
Which outwardly ye fhew? my noble Partner,
You greet with prefent Grace, and great Prediction
Of noble having, and of Royal hope,

That he feems wrapt withal; to me you speak not.
If you can look into the Seeds of Time,

And fay, which Grain will grow, and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear,
Your Favours, nor your Hate.

1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail! 3 Witch. Hail !

1 Witch. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not fo happy, yet much happier.

3 Wuch. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none; So all hail! Macbeth and Banquo.

1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail !

Macb. 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 profperous Gentleman; and to be King,
Stands not within the profpect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this ftrange Intelligence? or why,
Upon this blafted Heath you stop our way,
With fuch Prophetick Greeting?

Speak, I charge you.

[Witches vanifh.

Ban. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water has; And these are of them: Whither are they vanish'd ?

Mach.

Mach. Into the Air: and what feem'd corporal, Melted, as breath, into the Wind.

Would they had ftaid.

Ban. Were fuch things here, as we do speak about ? Or have we eaten of the infane Root,

That takes the Reafon Prisoner?

Mach. Your Children shall be Kings.
Ban. You fhall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo?
Ban. To th' felf-fame tune, and words; who's here?
Enter Roffe and Angus.

Roffe. The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The News of thy Succefs; and when he reads
Thy perfonal Venture in the Rebels Fight,
His Wonders and his Praifes do contend,
Which should be thine or his; Silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the reft o'th' felf-fame day,
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan Ranks,
Nothing afraid, of what thy felf didst make,
Strange Images of Death; as thick as Hail
Came Poft with Poft, and every one did bear
Thy Praises in his Kingdom's great Defence,
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are fent,

To give thee, from our Royal Master, thanks,
Only to Herald thee into his fight,

Not pay thee.

Roffe. And for an earnest of a greater Honour,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor;
In which Addition, hail, moft worthy Thane!
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the Devil fpeak true?
Mach. The Thane of Cawdor lives;
Why do you drefs me in his borrowed Robes ?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet,

But under heavy Judgment bears that Life,
Which he deferves to lofe.

Whether he was combin'd with thofe of Norway,
Or elfe did line the Rebel with hidden help,
And vantage; or that with both he labour'd
In his Country's wrack, I know not:

But