1    Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.

2    Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
3    Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
4    To trade and traffic with Macbeth
5    In riddles and affairs of death;
6    And I, the mistress of your charms,
7    The close contriver of all harms,
8    Was never call'd to bear my part,
9    Or show the glory of our art?
10   And, which is worse, all you have done
11   Hath been but for a wayward son,
12   Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,
13   Loves for his own ends, not for you.
14   But make amends now: get you gone,
15   And at the pit of Acheron
16   Meet me i' the morning: thither he
17   Will come to know his destiny:
18   Your vessels and your spells provide,
19   Your charms and every thing beside.
20   I am for the air; this night I'll spend
21   Unto a dismal and a fatal end:
22   Great business must be wrought ere noon:
23   Upon the corner of the moon
24   There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
25   I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
26   And that distill'd by magic sleights
27   Shall raise such artificial sprites
28   As by the strength of their illusion
29   Shall draw him on to his confusion:
30   He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
31   He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:
32   And you all know, security
33   Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
34   Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
35   Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

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