For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.
Mr. William Shakespeare: A midsummer night's dream. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew (ed. 1767)