These blessed candles of the night.
Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
How long a time lies in one little word?
The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o-erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire.