Hippolyta: Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; I thank thee, Mon, for shining now so bright; For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight. But stay, O spite! But mark, poor knight, what dreadful dole is here! Eyes, do you see! How can it be? O dainty duck! O dear! Thy mantle good, what, stain'd with blood! Approach, ye Furies fell! O Fates, come, come, cut thread and thrum; quail, crush, conclude, and quell!