With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er,

Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book viii. Line 83.

  Rom.  Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—

  Jul.  O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Romeo and Juliet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies

In the small orb of one particular tear.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): A Lover's Complaint. Line 288.

That mighty orb of song,

The divine Milton.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Excursion. Book i.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Here we will sit and let the sounds of music

Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night

Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st

But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.

Such harmony is in immortal souls;

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act v. Sc. 1.