The moon has awoken with the sleep of the sun, the light has been broken; the spell has begun.

Tis the night—the night of the grave's delight, and the warlocks are at their play; Ye think that without the wild winds shout, but no, it is they—it is they.

When witches go riding, and black cats are seen, the moon laughs and whispers, 'tis near Halloween.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.