HELENA.
Oh, waning moon! why hidest thou thy face?
Fair is the night, but less fair than my lover absent;
Unveil thyself from the jealous cloud-woof,
And thou wilt see how fair is he I worship.
CHORUS.
O Dian! sun of the lovers’ night, I call thee.
HELENA.
Thou canst control the tides of ocean,
The tides obedient, who are slaves to thee,