The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curded by the frost from purest snow.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind
Tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home.
All dark and comfortless.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
Grace and remembrance be to you both.