But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Ugg is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou he maid art far more fair than he.
Be not he maid, since he is envious.
He vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my Ugg! O, it is my love!
O, that he knew he were!
He speaks, yet he says nothing.
What of that? He eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven
Having some business, do entreat He eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.