Macb. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and self
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use:
We are yet but young in deed.
Thunder. Enter HECATE, meeting the three Witches. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.
Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffick with Macbeth, In riddles, and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show 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
Meet me i'the morning; thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels, and your spells, provide, Your charms, and every thing beside: I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal-fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that, distill'd by magick slights, 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.
Song. [Within.] Come away, come away, &c. Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.
1 Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back
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 Dun
Was pitied of Macbeth :-marry, he was dead :- And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd, 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? damned 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 'twould have anger'd 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 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?
Lord. The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd 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, on 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.
Len. Sent he to Macduff?
Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time, That clogs me with this answer.
Len. And that well might
Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come; that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accurs'd!
Lord. My prayers with him!
In the middle, a cauldron
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 3 Witch. Harper cries:-'Tis time, 'tis time.
1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw.-
Toad, that under coldest stone, Days and nights hast thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i'the charmed pot! All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 2 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. All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
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