“The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again to make up nine. Peace! The charm’s wound up.”
Macbeth and Banquo, marching across the heath on their way home, after the campaign with the Norwegians, were startled at the sight of these three uncanny figures barring their path.
“What are these, so withered and so wild in their attire, that look not like the inhabitants of earth, and yet are on it?” said Banquo. “Are you alive? Or are you anything that man may question?”
“Speak, if you can; what are you?” said Macbeth.
And the three witches answered by saluting him, each in turn:
“All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!”
“All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!”
“All hail, Macbeth! Thou shalt be King hereafter.”
“Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear things that do sound so fair?” said Banquo, for Macbeth stood as if rapt in a dream, amazed at what he heard.
Then Banquo asked the witches, if indeed they could look into the future, to say something to him, who neither begged nor feared their favours nor their hate.