Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 5

“They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the perfect’st report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the King, who all-hailed me, ‘Thane of Cawdor’; by which title, before, these Weird Sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with ‘Hail, king that shalt be!’ This have I thought good to deliver thee (my dearest partner of greatness) that thou might’st not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promis’d thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.”

"They met me on the day of my victory, and I have learned from the most reliable report that they know more than human beings can know. When I burned with desire to question them further, they turned themselves into air, and vanished into it. While I stood lost in wonder at it, messengers came from the King, who greeted me as 'Thane of Cawdor' — the very title by which these Weird Sisters had already saluted me before they pointed me toward the time to come with 'Hail, king that you shall be!' I thought it right to pass this on to you, my dearest partner in greatness, so that you would not lose your share of the rejoicing by not knowing what greatness is promised to you. Take it to heart, and goodbye."

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou’dst have, great Glamis, That which cries, “Thus thou must do,” if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown’d withal.

You are Glamis, and Cawdor, and you shall be what you were promised. Yet I am afraid of your nature; it is too full of the milk of human kindness to take the quickest route. You want to be great; you are not without ambition, but you lack the wickedness that should go with it. What you want badly, you want to get virtuously; you do not want to cheat, and yet you want to win what is not rightly yours. You would like, great Glamis, the thing that cries out, "This is what you must do, if you want me" — the thing you are more afraid to do than you are unwilling to have done. Hurry here, so that I can pour my spirit into your ear and whip away with the bravery of my tongue everything that keeps you from the golden crown, which fate and supernatural help seem set on placing on your head.

What is your tidings?

What is your news?

The King comes here tonight.

The King is coming here tonight.

Thou’rt mad to say it. Is not thy master with him? who, were’t so, Would have inform’d for preparation.

You must be mad to say so. Isn't your master with him? If he were, he would have sent word so that preparations could be made.

So please you, it is true. Our thane is coming. One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message.

If it pleases you, it is true. Our thane is on his way. One of my companions outrode him, and, nearly dead from lack of breath, he had barely enough left to deliver his message.

Give him tending. He brings great news.

See that he is looked after. He brings great news.

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, “Hold, hold!”

The raven itself is hoarse from croaking the fatal arrival of Duncan under my battlements. Come, you spirits that attend on murderous thoughts, strip me of my sex here, and fill me from head to toe, right to the brim, with the cruellest cruelty! Thicken my blood, block up every way in to pity, so that no natural pangs of conscience can shake my savage purpose, or come between it and its carrying out! Come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for bile, you murdering agents, wherever in your invisible forms you wait upon nature's harm! Come, thick night, and wrap yourself in the darkest smoke of hell, so that my sharp knife cannot see the wound it makes, nor heaven look through the blanket of the dark to cry, "Stop, stop!"

Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant.

Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by that greeting still to come! Your letters have carried me beyond this ignorant present, and now I feel the future in this very moment.

My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight.

My dearest love, Duncan is coming here tonight.

And when goes hence?

And when does he leave?

Tomorrow, as he purposes.

Tomorrow, as he intends.

O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under’t. He that’s coming Must be provided for; and you shall put This night’s great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Oh, the sun will never see that tomorrow! Your face, my thane, is like a book where people can read strange things. To fool the world, look like the world expects; carry welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it. The man who is coming must be provided for; and you will put tonight's great business into my hands, and it will give us, for all our nights and days to come, sole royal power and mastery.

We will speak further.

We will talk about this later.

Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear. Leave all the rest to me.

Only keep your face untroubled; to change your expression is always a sign of fear. Leave all the rest to me.