Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 409, November 1849

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 of 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?

1st Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!

2d Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!

3d 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 favours nor your hate.

1st Witch. Hail!

2d Witch. Hail!

3d Witch. Hail!

1st Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2d Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3d Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1st 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 staid!

Banquo. Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten of 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 self-same tune, and words."

NORTH.

Charles Kemble himself could not have given it more impressively.

BULLER.

You make him blush, sir.

NORTH.

Attend to that "start" of Macbeth, Talboys.

TALBOYS.

He might well start on being told of a sudden, by such seers, that he was hereafter to be King of Scotland.

NORTH.

There was more in the start than that, my lad, else Shakspeare would not have so directed our eyes to it. I say again – it was the start – of a murderer.

TALBOYS.

And what if I say it was not? But I have the candour to confess, that I am not familiar with the starts of murderers – so may possibly be mistaken.