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- Уильям Шекспир
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Thus
to
mine
eyes
.
Now
o'er
the
one
halfworld
Nature
seems
dead
,
and
wicked
dreams
abuse
The
curtain
'd
sleep
;
witchcraft
celebrates
Pale
Hecate
's
offerings
,
and
wither
'd
murder
,
Alarum
'd
by
his
sentinel
,
the
wolf
,
Whose
howl
's
his
watch
,
thus
with
his
stealthy
pace
.
With
Tarquin
's
ravishing
strides
,
towards
his
design
Moves
like
a
ghost
.
Thou
sure
and
firm-set
earth
,
Hear
not
my
steps
,
which
way
they
walk
,
for
fear
Thy
very
stones
prate
of
my
whereabout
,
