comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? A deed without a name. I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. Speak. Demand. We'll answer. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? Call 'em; let me see 'em. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Tell me, thou unknown power,-- He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? Listen, but speak not to't. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue