Though you untie the winds, and let them fight / Against the churches; though the yesty waves / Confound and swallow navigation up; / Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; / Though castles topple on their warders' heads; / Though palaces and pyramids do slope / Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure / Of nature's germens tumble all together, / Even till destruction sicken, answer me / To what I ask you.

Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff; / Beware the Thane of Fife.—

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.

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood / Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.

More needs she the divine than the physician.— / God, God, forgive us all!

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come.