The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters 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.
Enter MACBETH and BANQUO
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the
inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? You seem
to understand me,
By each at once her chappy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Speak, if you can: what are you?
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!
All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!
All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!
Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and
Of noble having and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.
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.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
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