If She Lives Till Doomsday, She'll Burn

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

Is She Not Passing Fair?

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright!

Foolery, Sir, Does Walk About The Orb Like The Sun; It Shines Everywhere.

Look To Her, Moor, If Thou Has Eyes To See. She Has Deceived Her Father, And May Thee.