FIRST WITCH All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
SECOND WITCH All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!
THIRD WITCH All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!
BANQUO Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? [To the Witches] I’th’ name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and great prediction
Of noble having and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt withal. (1.3.43-52)
A switch in metre for the witches, into some version of blank verse. But the ritual quality of their speech is still there, in the repetition, and in the formality of their greeting. All hail, all hail, all hail; hail to thee. Before we even get to the titles, that’s quite some greeting. Hail is not archaic, quite, but it’s a greeting in a particular register; it’s formal, respectful. It translates the Latin Ave—Hail Caesar! which is one implication here—but also Ave Maria, the Angel Gabriel’s salutation to the Virgin Mary. One of the things that’s happening here is a perverse kind of annunciation to Macbeth. (Ideas of pregnancy, birth, infancy recur in the play; to see this as an Annunciation scene, concerned with damnation rather than salvation, fits that pattern.) He’s being greeted by name, but new names; he’s being given new identities. Thane of Glamis: that’s his current title. The first witch is perhaps just being polite, keeps up with current events, knows her thanes? Thane of Cawdor: that’s someone else. Perhaps just a mix-up? (But we know that this is meant to happen, that the Thane of Cawdor is being executed for treason and that Ross, rather than the second witch, is meant to be greeting Macbeth with his former title. The witches know too. We share their omniscience. Bit uncomfortable.) All hail Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter! That’s extreme, and unambiguous. Not yet, but eventually. King.
And Macbeth doesn’t reply. (Notice that they didn’t answer his question? They haven’t identified themselves, just him.) It’s Banquo who does the talking, again, first to Macbeth: why do you seem shocked, taken aback? A good note: Macbeth has to start, jump, perhaps shake his head. Why are you frightened to hear things that do sound so fair? (Because fair is foul, ultimately, Banquo. Haven’t you been listening?) And Banquo still wants to know what these—things—people—are. Tell the truth: are ye fantastical, unreal, unearthly—or are you as you seem (old women?)? (Implicit: what the hell’s going on?) He sums up: my noble partner (Macbeth is noble, both in rank and in character, an honourable man; that matters) you greet with present grace, that is, his proper title at this moment in time (Thane of Glamis)—but also great prediction of noble having. A promotion. And then royal hope. A delicate shift, from having to hope, to convey the magnitude of what’s being talked about. To be king. No wonder Macbeth seems rapt withal—entranced, struck dumb, but also rapt in the sense of rapture, raptus: abducted, taken outside himself, beside himself; not himself.
