Original
Modern English
Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.
What’s this, Hecate! You look angry.
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.
Don’t I have a reason, old women like you, Acting so cheeky and bold? How dare you Deal with Macbeth Using riddles and matters of death; And I, the one who controls your magic, The mastermind behind all harm, Was never called to join in, Or to show off the glory of our craft? And what’s worse, everything you’ve done Was for a reckless son, Full of spite and anger, who, just like everyone else, Loves only for his own benefit, not for you. But make it right now: get going, And meet me at the pit of Acheron In the morning: he Will come there to learn his fate: Prepare your vessels and your spells, Your charms and everything else. I’ll be off to the air; tonight I’ll spend Toward a dark and deadly end: Big things need to be done before noon: On the edge of the moon There’s a thick, mysterious mist hanging; I’ll catch it before it hits the ground: And with some magical tricks I’ll create such fake spirits That, through the strength of their illusion, Will lead him to his ruin: He’ll reject fate, laugh at death, and carry Hopes above wisdom, grace, and fear: And you all know, security Is mankind’s greatest enemy.
Hark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.
Listen! I’m being called; my little spirit, see, Is sitting in a foggy cloud, waiting for me.
Come, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again.
Let’s hurry; she’ll be back soon.