Enter MACBETH and BANQUO, drenched in blood with torches.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
How far is’t called to Forres?
Forres is a place near to King Duncan’s camp.
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.
What are these
That look not like the inhabitants o’ th’ earth,
And yet are on’t? – Live you, or are you aught
That man may question?
Banquo is not sure whether the witches are human because of how they look. What do you imagine they look like?
Speak, if you can: what are you?
All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee Thane of Glamis.
All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee Thane of Cawdor.
All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter.
Why do you think Macbeth doesn’t respond immediately to the witches’ prophecies?
Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? – I’th’ 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 favours, nor your hate.
Why are you scared by words that promise an amazing future?
You have given my friend such great news about what his future holds that he is completely spellbound.
If you can foretell what will happen in the future and say what will happen and what won't.
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.
Your children and descendants will be kings.
Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail.
The WITCHES turn to leave.
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
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.
The idea of being king is completely unbelievable.
How many questions do Macbeth and Banquo ask of the witches and why do you think the witches don’t answer?
(Text edited for rehearsals by Polly Findlay and Zoe Svendsen)