"When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, and rain?" This the witches, wintry bane Of kings and kingdoms spake.   Then ar't thou they? You witches three, And now draw nigh to conjure me? And so or not, is't I see You as I sleep, or wake?

Oh, doth the hurly-burly brain, O'recome by earth's unending pain, Falsify tempest to summer rain My wanton thirst to slake?   Or doth some power unknown to me Send here, in truth, the maids I see? Declaring one shall meet with three, A laughing springtime hour to make?

Those powers pleased or angered...which? And do I wake or dream?
And what the risk if hags i'sooth, and not the maids you seem?

But nay, these fears I'll not debate; the more confound my weak and wondering mind.
Instead, pray come right in, my dears, and I shall pour for you some autumn wine.

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