Macbeth

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Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Pour in sow's blood

that hath eaten her nine farrow;

grease that's sweaten from the muderer's gibbet

throw into the flame;

finger of birth-strangled babe,

ditch-deliver'd by a drab;

Make the gruel thick and slab,

like a hell-broth boil and bubble,

for a charm of powerful trouble.

When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightening or in rain?

When the hurlyburly's done.

When the battle's lost and won.

That will be ere the set of sun.

Where to meet with

Macbeth?

By the pricking of my thumbs,

something wicked this way comes.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come.

All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,

thane of Glamis!

What are these that look not like

the inhabitants o' the earth, and yet are on't?

Speak, if you can: what are you?

Hail!

What is't you do?

Hail!

Hail!

Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor.

All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!

If you can look into the seeds 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.

Hail!

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Not so happy, yet much happier.

Thou shalt get kings,

though thou be none.

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

Go herefrom! Leave!

Stay, you imperfect speakers,

tell me more.

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 relief,

no more than to be Cawdor.

My lord, Macbeth!

Kind gentlemen.

The king hath happily received, Macbeth,

the news of thy success

As thick as hail came post with post

and every one did bear

thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,

We give thee from our royal master thanks.

He bade us, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor.

What, can the devil speak true?

In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!

for it is thine.

The thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you

dress me in borrow'd robes?

Who was the thane lives yet;

but under heavy judgment bears that life

which he deserves to lose.

Treasons capital, confess'd and proved

have overthrown him.

Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!

The greatest is behind.

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?

Worthy Macbeth,

we stay upon your leisure.

Give me your favour: my dull brain was

wrought with things forgotten.

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear,

he hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear

Let us toward the king.

Hail!

Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it,

came missives from the king,

who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor',

by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me,

and referred me to the coming on of time,

with 'Hail, king that shalt be!'

Stars, hide your fires, let not light see

my black and deep desires:

Lord Banqou!

Do you not hope your children shall be kings,

when those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me

promised no less to them?

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.

Your children shall be kings.

You shall be king.

If chance will have me king, why,

chance may crown me, without my stir.

Look, how our partner's rapt.

Hail, king that shalt be!

This have I thought good to deliver thee,

my dearest partner of greatness,

that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing,

by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee.

Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

what thou art promised.

Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts,

unsex me here,

and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

of direst cruelty!

Make thick my blood;

Stop up the access and passage to remorse,

That no compunctious visitings of nature,

Shake my fell purpose, nor

keep peace between the effect and it!

Come to my woman's breasts,

and take my milk for gall,

you murdering ministers, wherever in your

sightless substances you wait on nature's mischief!

Come, thick night,

and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,

that my keen knife see not the wound it makes,

nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,

to cry 'Hold, hold!'

Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor!

Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!

Thy letters have transported me beyond

this ignorant present,

and I feel now the future in the instant.

My dearest love,

Duncan comes here to-night.

And when goes hence?

To-morrow, as he purposes.

He that's coming must be provided for.

We will speak further.

Put this night's business into my dispatch.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where

men may read strange matters.

To beguile the time, look like the time;

Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

Look like the innocent flower,

but be the serpent under't.

When Duncan is asleep, whereto the rather shall

his day's hard journey soundly invite him,

I'll drug his servents' wine

King Duncan is my kinsman.

He hath borne his faculties so meek.

hath been so clear in his great office,

that his virtues will plead like angels,

trumpet-tongued,

against the deep damnation of his taking-off;

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim,

horsed upon the sightless couriers of the air,

shall blow the horrid deed

in every eye, that tears shall drown the wind.

Saint Michael, the archy angel, be our safeguard

against the viles and wickedness of the devil.

Do thou, oh prince of the heavenly host,

by the divine power,

thrust into hell satan and the other evil spirits,

who wrong through the world,

seeking the ruin of souls.

Amen!

Thus thou renounce satan?

I renounce him.

And all his works?

I renounce them.

And all his palms?

I renounce them.

Amen!

My son, is execution done on Cawdor?

My liege, it is. And 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.

There's no art to find the mind's construction

in the face:
he was a gentleman,

on whom I built an absolute trust.

But where is Macbeth, the thane of Cawdor?

Oh, worthy Cawdor!

Would thou hadst less deserved,

that the proportion both of thanks and payment might have been mine!

The service and the loyalty I owe in doing it,

pays itself.

Noble Banquo, thou hadst no less deserved,

nor must be known no less to have done so.

Give me your hand.

This guest of summer, the temple-haunting martlet,

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