Romeo. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit tree tops—
Juliet. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gauds.
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o'er dusted;
The present eye praises the present object.