How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

The pleasing punishment that women bear.

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze by the sweet power of music.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.