GHOST.
What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps and points to yonder glade?
To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. A. POPE.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew?
Elegy on the Lady Jane Pawlet. B. JONSON.
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
King Richard III., Act v. Sc. 3. SHAKESPEARE.
And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine.
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.
MACBETH. Thou canst not say I did it; never shake
Thy gory locks at me.
* * * * *
LADY MACBETH. O proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fear;
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,
Led you to Duncan.
MACBETH. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how
say you?
* * * * *
The times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools.
* * * * *
Avaunt! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes,
Which thou dost glare with!
* * * * *
Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!
Macbeth, Act iii. Sc. 4. SHAKESPEARE.