By the pricking of my thumbs, / Something wicked this way comes.

Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care / Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: / Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until / Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill / Shall come against him.

Double, double, toil and trouble; / Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.

I bear a charmed life, which must not yield / To one of woman born.

And be these juggling fiends no more believ’d, / That palter with us in a double sense; / That keep the word of promise to our ear, / And break it to our hope!—

Despair thy charm; / And let the angel whom thou still hast serv’d / Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb / Untimely ripp’d.

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!

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?

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.