Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops⁠—

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.

Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say “It lightens.” Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again.