A Heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE
First Witch
Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.
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;
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
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
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
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:
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
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.
Exit
First Witch
Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.
Exeunt

On a desolate heath the weird sisters awaited Hecate, Queen of the Witches. Deafening thunder claps announced her imminent arrival.

 

“Greetings, Hecate! You look angry!” the first witch said.

 

“Have I not reason, hags as you are, disobedient and forward? 

Why did you dare to trade and traffic with Macbeth

in riddles and affairs of death?

I, mistress of your charms,

overseeing all your harms,

was never called to bear my part.

No chance to show the glory of our art?

And what is worse, all you have done

has been but for a wayward son-

spiteful, and wrathful,

who loves for his own ends, not for you.

But make amends now- get you gone,

meet me in the morning at the pit of Acheron.

He will come, to know his destiny.

Your vessels and your spells provide,

your charms, and everything beside.

I am leaving now - this night I'll spend

dreaming of a dismal and fatal end.

Great business must be wrought 'ere noon.

Upon the corner of the moon

there hangs a potion profound-

I'll catch it here as it falls to the ground.

That, distilled by magic tricks shall produce

ghostly images which by the strength of their illusion

shall overwhelm him in confusion.

He shall spurn Fate, scorn death, and bear

his hopes above wisdom, grace and fear:

And you all know, security

is mortals' chiefest enemy.”

 

Hecate was distracted by soothing music and sweet singing, "Come away, come away."

 

“Listen I am called: my little spirit, see,

sitting in a foggy cloud awaiting me.”

 

The first witch said to her sisters, “Hurry, she will be back again soon.”

 

The weird sisters, chastised by their mistress, fled to fulfil her demands. Macbeth's fate was sealed.