God defend me from that Welsh fairy, Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!

I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.

There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.

Thou hast not half that power to do me harm As I have to be hurt.

Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight

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

His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed a horse.