King,

His looks declare his tongue is at a loss

To speak some wonderful--some mighty thing-
Whence cam❜st thou, worthy Thane?

From Fife, great king,

Rosse.

Where the Norwegian banners such a breeze Kick'd up (5) all round they made our people freeze;

Norway, assisted by that turn-coat knave,

The Thane of Cawdor-proof of valour gave;
Till Mars's son prov'd equally as good,

And quickly cool'd the traitor's lavish blood;
In short-the victory is ours.

King.

Adzooks! (6)

This is good news-I guess'd it by your looks
No more shall contumacious rebels moider

Our royal brain-that for the Thane of Cawdor--
(cracking his fingers. (7)
Go, my brave fellow, and pronounce his death,
Then with his title greet the brave Macbeth.

TUNE." Good-morrow Gossip Joan."

1. Witch.

Pray tell me, Sister Witch,

What thee has been delaying?

To know too, I beseech,

Where thou'st been also staying

Sister Witch?

2. Witch.

I'll tell thee, Sister Witch,

The task I've been fulfilling ;

To satisfy an itch,

Some swine I've been a killing

Sister Witch.

3. Witch.

And I too, Sister Witch,

A rump-fed hag was viewing;

Who, seated near a ditch,

Her chesnuts there was chewing

Sister Witch.

All.

Together, three times three, (8)

About, about, about now

Again about go we

Again, for that makes out now

Three times three!

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, and Soldiers.

Macbeth.

I've never felt a day so warm and cold. (9)

Banquo.

Ha! what ill-looking things do I behold?
So wild and strange-they sure were never bred
On this our earth, tho' on the earth they tread?
They seem, indeed, old women to the eye,
But then their beards do give their form the lie.
If you are beings whom I may address,

Pray, who the devil are you?

Aye-confess.

Macbeth.

1. Witch.

All hail, Macbeth-hail to thee, Thane of Glamis !

2. Witch.

And Thane of Cawdor too-for that thy name is.

All haill, Macbeth-hail, Royal Sir, to thee,-
For thou, ere many days, a King shalt be.

Banquo.

Why start you at this news? Why seem to fear
Sounds which are so harmonious to the ear?

Are ye immortal from the lower regions,

Or

any

(To the Witches.)

kind of women-I mean sage ones? With such kind words my partner you accost, That I'm afraid his senses he has lost.

To me you speak not-if you know so well
The book of fate, my fortune also tell;
No matter, good or bad, you may begin,
For good or bad, I shall not care a pin.

1. Witch.

All hail! Less than Macbeth, and yet more great.

2. Witch.

Tho' not so happy-happier thy fate."

3. Witch.

Tho' Banquo thou shalt never be a king,
From thee a royal family shall spring.

1. Witch.

Hail Banquo and Macbeth, we must away.