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Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
Stay, you imperfect speaker, tell me more. By sinels death i know i am thane of Cawdor lives. A porperous gentlemen; and to be king. Stands not within prospect of belief. No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence. You owe this strange intelligence, or why. Upon this blasted heath you stop our way. With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I CHARGE YOU!
Banquo: The earth hath bubbles as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanished?
Into thae air: and what seemed corporal. Melted, as breath into the wind. Would they had stayed!
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