Macbeth, Act 3, Scene 5

Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.

Well, what's the matter, Hecate? You look angry.

Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call’d to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i’ th’ morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms, and everything beside. I am for th’ air; this night I’ll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere noon. Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vap’rous drop profound; I’ll catch it ere it come to ground: And that, distill’d by magic sleights, Shall raise such artificial sprites, As, by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion. He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes ’bove wisdom, grace, and fear. And you all know, security Is mortals’ chiefest enemy.

Don't I have good reason, you old hags, so insolent and far too bold? How did you dare to bargain and deal with Macbeth in riddles and matters of death, while I, the mistress of your spells, the secret planner of all harm, was never called on to play my part or to display the glory of our craft? And, what's worse, everything you've done has been for nothing but a stubborn son, spiteful and full of anger, who, like everyone else, loves for his own purposes, not for you. But make up for it now: go away, and meet me in the morning at the pit of Acheron. He will come there to learn his destiny. Get your pots and your spells ready, your charms and everything else. I'm off into the air; I'll spend this night working toward a grim and deadly end. Great work must be done before noon. On the tip of the moon there hangs a deep drop of mist; I'll catch it before it falls to the ground. And that, distilled by magic tricks, will raise up such spirits made by art that, through the power of their illusion, they will lead him on to his ruin. He will reject fate, mock death, and carry his hopes above wisdom, grace, and fear. And you all know that overconfidence is the greatest enemy of human beings.

Hark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me.

Listen! I'm being called. Look, my little spirit is sitting in a foggy cloud and waiting for me.

Come, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again.

Come on, let's hurry; she'll be back again soon.