Out of her favour, where I am in love.
The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.
Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.
To saucy doubts and fears.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.