[Verses by W. Shakespeare The Tragedy Of Macbeth; music by Eugen]
Three warlocks and nine witches have gathered for the
summoning of Devil in the tenebrious
glade within Nebelforst on Sabbath. Bodeful thunderous Night. The warlocks boil the
loathsome
ointment in the silvern cauldron, tapestried with pelt and glyph-scored with druids hierograms.
They troll incantations
and stir the potion at the same time.
The rite of Invocation begins!
[First warlock:] Thrice the branded cat hath
mewd.
[Second warlock:] Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whind.
[Third warlock:] Harpier cries, tis time, tis time.
[First
warlock (whose patrimonial name noble Morphiy):]
Round bout the cauldron go
In the poisond entrails throw.
Toad, that under
frosty stone,
Days and nights, has thirty one
Swelterd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i th charmed pot... with
rot!
[Chant of witches:]
Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny
snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog
Adders fork, and blind-worms
sting,
Lizards leg, and howlets wing
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.
[Chant of
witches:]
Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
[Second warlock (bemoaned after death without
name):]
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witchs mummy, maw, and gulf
Of the ravind salt-sea shark
Root of hemlock, diggd i th
dark
Liver of blaspheming jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliverd in the moons eclipse
Nose of Turk, and Tartars
lips
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliverd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick, and slab.
Add thereto a tigers
chaudron,
For th ingredients of our cauldron.
[Third warlock (initiate in air host of Merezin):]
Cool it with a baboons
blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
First warlock: By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes
Open
locks, whoever knocks.
In lieu of any fiend from netherworld Sabbat evoked by incantations and hellbroth-irrigation the mighty
spirit of the dead gothic king Germanareh. Weening that its someone of arch-fiends, the witches were improvising the ritual dance around
the dazed ghost. The supreme warlock frowned ordinees into doing the kiss of shame. The Kings spirit set to improve by the puissant
spellcraft of that coven. When his besotted tendance had finished this darksome solemnization of demonolatry Germanareh bid them to summon
acolytes for him the spirits of those mounts as he titled them. He cerebrated that while the warlocks were summoning the pucks as they
bethought they would revive the departed gothic warriors, which inearthed upon that tumulus too. Theyll resurge and minister their
almighty sovereign anew.
[Phoenixed Spirit of Germanareh:]
O well done, I commend your pains,
And every one shall in the
gains
And now about the cauldron sing
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in
I am
King!
