I am as a weed

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail

Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 2.

I 'll example you with thievery:

The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction

Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,

And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;

The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves

The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,

That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen

From general excrement: each thing's a thief.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Timon of Athens. Act iv. Sc. 3.