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[MUSIC PLAYING]
Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn, and
cauldron bubble.
Pour in sow's blood that has eaten her nine farro, grease
that's sweaten from the murderer's gibbet
throw into the flame.
Finger--
Of birth-strangled babe.
Ditch-delivered by a drab.
Make the gruel--
Thick and slab.
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
For a charm of powerful trouble.
When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightening,
or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done.
When the battle's lost and won.
That will be ere the set of sun.
There to meet with Macbeth.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
By the pricking of my thumbs, something
wicked this way comes.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
A drum, a drum, Macbeth doth come.
All hail Macbeth.
Hail to thee, thane of Glamis.
What are these that look not like the inhabitants of the
earth, and yet are on it?
Speak, if you can.
What are you?
Hail, hail, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor.
All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter.
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 favors nor your hate.
Hail.
Hail.
Hail.
Lesser than Macbeth--
And greater.
Not so happy--
Yet much happier.
Thou shalt get kings.
Though thou be none.
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo.
Go hither and leave.
[INAUDIBLE]
Stay, you imperfect speakers.
Tell me more.
I am the thane of Glamis, but how of Cawdor?
The thane of Cawdor lives, a prosperous gentleman.
And to be king stands not within the prospect of belief,
no more than to be Cawdor.
My lord, Macbeth.
Kind gentlemen.
The king hath happily received, Macbeth, the news of
thy success.
As thick as hail came post with post, and everyone did
bear thy praises in his kingdom's great defence.
We give thee from our royal master thanks.
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor.
What, can the devil speak true?
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, for it is thine.
The thane of Cawdor lives.
Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?
Who was the thane lives yet, but under heavy judgment bears
that life which he deserves to lose.
Treasons capital, confessed and proved,
have overthrown him.
Glamis, and thane of Cawdor.
The greatest is behind.
This supernatural soliciting cannot be ill, cannot be good.
If ill, why hath it given me an 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?
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
Give me your favor.
My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear his hopes
above wisdom, grace, and fear.
Let us toward the king.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Hail.