O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven
Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
There is no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Give obedience where 'tis truly owed.
Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.