Puslapio vaizdai

1 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 shall be king hereafter.

Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to

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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 wrapt 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.

1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail!

3 Witch. Hail!

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be


All. So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

[Going. Macb. Stay,-you imperfect speakers, tell me


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?

[Thunder and Lightning.-WITCHES vanish. Speak, I charge you.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them :-Whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, melted

As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid! Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root,

That takes the reason prisoner?

Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Ban. You shall be king.

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Ban. To the self-same tune and words.-Who's here?


Macd. 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 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 defence, And pour'd them down before him.

Len. We are sent

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his sight,

Not pay thee.

Macd. 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.

Ban. What! can the devil speak true?

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; why do you dress me

In borrow'd robes?

Macd. Who was the thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deserves to lose;

For treasons capital, confess'd, and proved,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:

The greatest is behind.-Thanks for your pains.Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those, that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, Promised no less to them?

Ban. 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 us

Indeepest consequence.-Cousins, a word, I pray you. Macb. 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.

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt,

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance

may crown me,

Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him,

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.

Macb. Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour :-my dull brain was


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.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends.



The Palace at Fores.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

Rosse, and two CHAMBERLAINS.

King. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd?

Mal. My liege,

They are not yet come back;

But I have spoke

With one that saw him die: who did report,

That very frankly he confess'd his treasons;
Implored your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King. There's no art,

To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman on whom I built

An absolute trust.

Enter MACDUFF, MACBETH, BANQUO, and LENOX. O, worthiest cousin!

The sin of my ingratitude even now

Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompence is slow

To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserved,
That the proportion, both of thanks and payment,
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties: and our duties

Are to your throne and state, children, and servants;

Which do but what they should, by doing every thing

Safe toward your love and honour.

King. Welcome hither:

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing.-Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserved, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban. There if I


The harvest is your own.

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