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.—

As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks; / So they / Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: / Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, / Or memorize another Golgotha, / I cannot tell—

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. / SECOND WITCH. / Not so happy, yet much happier. / THIRD WITCH. / Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: / So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

If you 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.

The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, / And these are of them.

This guest of summer, / The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, / By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath / Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, / Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird / hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle.

So I lose none / In seeking to augment it, but still keep / My bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear, / I shall be counsell’d.

Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, / And look on death itself!

It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul’s flight, / If it find heaven, must find it out tonight.

Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, / As the Weird Women promis’d; and, I fear, / Thou play’dst most foully for’t;