Nothing is good, I see, without respect.
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Thus hath the candle singed the moth
O, these deliberate fools, when they do choose,
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.
You would be,
That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
Come on, Nerissa, I have work in hand
That you yet know not of.