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Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us! - Joseph Addison, Cato (act II, sc. 1) Who gather round, and wonder at the tale Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand O'er some new-open'd grave; and, (strange to tell!) Evanishes at crowing of the cock. - Robert Blair, The Grave (l. 67) Where entity and quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly. - Samuel Butler (1), Hudibras (pt. I, canto I, l. 145) The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she. - Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Ancient Mariner (pt. III) The unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from the scene, followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom of Lord Goderich. - Benjamin Disraeli, 1st Earl of Beaconsfield, Endymion (ch. III) Thin, airy shoals of visionary ghosts. - Homer ("Smyrns of Chios"), The Odyssey (bk. XI, l. 48), (Pope's translation) So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away; I will go down to the chapel and pray. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Golden Legend (pt. IV) Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names. - John Milton, Comus (l. 207) For spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both. - John Milton, Paradise Lost (bk. I, l. 423) Whence and what are thou, execrable shape? - John Milton, Paradise Lost (bk. II, l. 681) All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, All intellect, all sense, and as they please They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size, Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. - John Milton, Paradise Lost (bk. VI, l. 350) What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? - Alexander Pope, Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady (l. 1) Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the churchway paths to glide. - William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream (Puck at V, i) A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. - William Shakespeare, Hamlet Prince of Denmark (Horatio at I, i) There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this. - William Shakespeare, Hamlet Prince of Denmark (Horatio at I, v) I can call spirits from the vasty deep. - William Shakespeare, King Henry the Fourth, Part I (Glendower at III, i) Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come when you do call for them? - William Shakespeare, King Henry the Fourth, Part I (Hotspur at III, i) What are these, So withered and so wild in their attire That took not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth And yet are on't? - William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Banquo at I, iii) Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee! I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. - William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Macbeth at II, i) Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? - William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Macbeth at II,i) My people too were scared with eerie sounds, A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls. A noise of falling weights that never fell, Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand, Door-handles turn'd when none was at the door, And bolted doors that open'd of themselves; And one betwixt the dark and light had seen Her, bending by the cradle of her babe. - Lord Alfred Tennyson, Night's Dream (act V, sc. 1, l. 386) I look for ghosts; but none will force Their way to me; 'tis falsely said That even there was intercourse Between the living and the dead. - William Wordsworth, Affliction of Margaret
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