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

“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. . . .”

“We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.”

“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 robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.”

“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.”

“How now, spirit! whither wander you?FAIRY Over hill, over dale,Through bush, through brier,Over park, over pale,Through flood, through fire,I do wander everywhere,Swifter than the moon's sphere;And I serve the fairy queen,To dew her orbs upon the green.The cowslips tall her pensioners be:In their gold coats spots you see;Those be rubies, fairy favours,In those freckles live their savours:I must go seek some dewdrops hereAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:Our queen and all our elves come here anon.”