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 Hec. Upon, the comer of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; 111 catch it ere it come to ground: And that, distill'd by magic slights, Shall raise such artificial sprights, As, by the strength of their illusion. Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear.

The description which the Sorceress here gives of a mind abandoned to reprobation, makes it impossible to suppose, that Shakspeare intended Macbeth any longer to feel the slightest fear, or reluctance, to commit the worst crimes his ambition