All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.
A show of eight kings, and Banquo last; [the eighth king] with a glass in his hand.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! 112
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs: and thy hair,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:
A third is like the former. Filthy hags!
Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! 116
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Another yet? A seventh! I'll see no more:
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shows me many more; and some I see
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry. 121
Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. [Apparitions vanish.]
What! is this so? 124
First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
And show the best of our delights. 128
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round,
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay. 132
Music. The Witches dance, and vanish
[with Hecate].
Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
117 crack of doom: break of Judgment Day
121 Cf. n.
123 blood-bolter'd: blood-clotted
130 antic: fantastic
