Light, Seeking Light, Doth Light Of Light

O, What A Goodly Outside Falsehood Hath!

So Many Horrid Ghosts.

The Thane Of Cawdor Lives, A Prosperous Gentleman; And To Be King Stands Not Within The Prospect Of Belief, No More Than To Be Cawdor.

Make The Doors Upon A Woman's Wit, And It Will Out At The Casement; Shut That, And 'twill Out At The Key-hole; Stop That, 'twill Fly With The Smoke Out At The Chimney.

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.