“And keep you in the rear of your affection,Out of the shot and danger of desire,The chariest maid is prodigal enoughIf she unmasks her beauty to the moon.”

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,Who is already sick and pale with griefThat thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .”

“He jests at scars that never felt a wound.But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,Who is already sick and pale with grief,That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.Be not her maid since she is envious.Her vestal livery is but sick and green,And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.Oh, that she knew she were!She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,Having some business, do entreat her eyesTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.What if her eyes were there, they in her head?The brightness of her cheek would shame those starsAs daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heavenWould through the airy region stream so brightThat birds would sing and think it were not night.See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.Oh, that I were a glove upon that handThat I might touch that cheek!”

“The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.”

“I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.”

“Have not we affections and desires for sport, and frailty, as men have?”

“Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.”