[Thunder. Enter the three Witches.]
Where hast thou been, sister?
Sister, where thou?
A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: — "Give me," quoth I:
"Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
I'll give thee a wind.
Thou art kind.
And I another.
I myself have all the other:
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary seven-nights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost. —
Look what I have.
Show me, show me.
Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.
A drum, a drum!
Macbeth doth come.
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,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Speak, if you can; — what are you?
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