 | Lady Macbeth |  |
SCENE I.
BAUDRON.The night advances to that horal bourn,
Where touch the wheels of yesterday and morrow,
And all the castle in defenceless sleep,
Fetter'd lies prostrate. 'Tis the chosen time,
When Rapine girds himself for enterprize;
Treason harangues his sworn conspirators
In dismal vaults, by torches darkly shown;
And Murder grasping firm the gleaming knife,
Stalks, with perturbed pace and soundless tread,
To the devoted couch.—Macbeth's a-foot!—
'Tis hallow-eve, and annual on this night,
Our youthful villagers, with rites and charms,
And old traditionary oracles,
Explore their destin'd boons of love and fortune.
Some say, that licensed from an antient date,
Th'imprison'd mischiefs roam at large to-night;
And in the gay unguarded heart of youth,
By juggling omens, raise perplexing thoughts,
That ravel all their future thread of life.
| Lady Macbeth | |