Come, seeling night,  
 Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,  
 And with thy bloody and invisible hand,  
 Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond  
 Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow  
 Makes wing to the rooky wood;  
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,  
 Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Macbeth (1606) act 3, sc. 2, l. 46























