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.