| HECATE | |
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; | 5 |
| | 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 | 10 |
| | 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 | 15 |
| | Meet me i' the morning: thither he | |
| | Will come to know his destiny: | |
| | Your vessels and your spells provide, | |
| | Your charms and every thing beside. | |
| | I am for the air; this night I'll spend | 20 |
| | Unto a dismal and a fatal end: | |
| | Great business must be wrought ere noon: | |
| | Upon the corner of the moon | |
| | There hangs a vaporous drop profound; | |
| | I'll catch it ere it come to ground: | 25 |
| | 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 | 30 |
| | He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: | |
| | And you all know, security | |
| | Is mortals' chiefest enemy. | |
| | [Music and a song within: 'Come away, come |
| | away,' &c] |
| | Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, | |
| | Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. | 35 |
| | [Exit] |