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XI.

He said, and paus'd.
The weir'd Sisters then, hag-born and horrid,

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Mutter'd their melancholy homage hoarse;
Cold distillations of distress extreme
Fell down the furrows of each wint'ry cheek:
Thrice pac'd they piteous round the hallow'd earth,
Acknowledging their Lord. To Garrick's grave
Bow'd every swarthy She.—To end their rites,
Imagination's owl flapp'd her fell wing,
And, wailing, shriek'd as 'cross the dome she flew:
Sudden, the whirring wizards disappear,
And horse themselves upon the viewless winds.