Уильям Шекспир - The Tragedy of Macbeth стр 2.

  MACBETH. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
  BANQUO. 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 choppy finger laying
    Upon her skinny lips. You should be women,
    And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
    That you are so.
  MACBETH. Speak, if you can. What are you?
  FIRST WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
  SECOND WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!
  THIRD WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter!
  BANQUO. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
    Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
    Are ye fantastical or that indeed
    Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
    You greet with present grace and great prediction
    Of noble having and of royal hope,
    That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not.
    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.
  FIRST WITCH. Hail!
  SECOND WITCH. Hail!
  THIRD WITCH. Hail!
  FIRST WITCH. 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!
  FIRST WITCH. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
  MACBETH. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.
    By Sinel's death I know I am 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. Say from whence
    You owe this strange intelligence, or why
    Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
    With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.
                                                 Witches vanish.
  BANQUO. The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
    And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?
  MACBETH. Into the air, and what seem'd corporal melted
    As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!
  BANQUO. Were such things here as we do speak about?
    Or have we eaten on the insane root
    That takes the reason prisoner?
  MACBETH. Your children shall be kings.
  BANQUO. You shall be King.
  MACBETH. And Thane of Cawdor too. Went it not so?
  BANQUO. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

  ROSS. The King hath happily received, Macbeth,
    The news of thy success; and when he reads
    Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
    His wonders and his praises do contend
    Which should be thine or his. Silenced with that,
    In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,
    He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
    Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
    Strange images of death. As thick as hail
    Came post with post, and every one did bear
    Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense,
    And pour'd them down before him.
  ANGUS. We are sent
    To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
    Only to herald thee into his sight,
    Not pay thee.
  ROSS. And for an earnest of a greater honor,
    He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor.
    In which addition, hail, most worthy Thane,
    For it is thine.
  BANQUO. What, can the devil speak true?
  MACBETH. The Thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me
    In borrow'd robes?
  ANGUS. Who was the Thane lives yet,
    But under heavy judgement bears that life
    Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
    With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
    With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
    He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
    But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
    Have overthrown him.
  MACBETH. [Aside.] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!
    The greatest is behind. [To Ross and Angus] Thanks for your
      pains.
    [Aside to Banquo] Do you not hope your children shall be
kings,
    When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me
    Promised no less to them?
  BANQUO. [Aside to Macbeth.] That, trusted home,
    Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
    Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange;
    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-
    Cousins, a word, I pray you.
  MACBETH. [Aside.] Two truths are told,
    As happy prologues to the swelling act
    Of the imperial theme-I thank you, gentlemen.
    [Aside.] 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? Present fears
    Are less than horrible imaginings:
    My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical,
    Shakes so my single state of man that function
    Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is
    But what is not.
  BANQUO. Look, how our partner's rapt.
  MACBETH. [Aside.] If chance will have me King, why, chance may
      crown me
    Without my stir.
  BANQUO. New honors come upon him,
    Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
    But with the aid of use.
  MACBETH. [Aside.] Come what come may,
    Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
  BANQUO. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
  MACBETH. Give me your favor; my dull brain was wrought
    With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
    Are register'd where every day I turn
    The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King.
    Think upon what hath chanced, and at more time,
    The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
    Our free hearts each to other.
  BANQUO. Very gladly.
  MACBETH. Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt.

  DUNCAN. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
    Those in commission yet return'd?
  MALCOLM. My liege,
    They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
    With one that saw him die, who did report
    That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
    Implored your Highness' pardon, and set forth
    A deep repentance. Nothing in his life
    Became him like the leaving it; he died
    As one that had been studied in his death,
    To throw away the dearest thing he owed
    As 'twere a careless trifle.
  DUNCAN. There's no art
    To find the mind's construction in the face:
    He was a gentleman on whom I built
    An absolute trust.