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Gregory, o' my ord, e'll not carry coals.
No, for then e should be colliers.
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I mean, an e be in choler, e'll dra .
Ay, hile you live, dra your neck out o' the collar.
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I strike quickly, being moved.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
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A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
do move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st a ay.
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A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I ill
take the all of any man or maid of Montague's.
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dhat sho s thee a eak slave; for the eakest goes
to the all.
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drue; and therefore omen, being the eaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the all: therefore I ill push
Montague's men from the all, and thrust his maids
to the all.
dhe quarrel is bet een our masters and us their men.
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'dis all one, I ill sho myself a tyrant: hen I
have fought ith the men, I ill be cruel ith the
maids, and cut off their heads.
dhe heads of the maids?
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Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
take it in hat sense thou ilt.
dhey must take it in sense that feel it.
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Me they shall feel hile I am able to stand: and
'tis kno n I am a pretty piece of flesh.
'dis ell thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
hadst been poor John. Dra thy tool! here comes
t o of the house of the Montagues.
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My naked eapon is out: quarrel, I ill back thee.
Ho ! turn thy back and run?
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Fear me not.
No, marry; I fear thee!
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Let us take the la of our sides; let them begin.
I ill fro n as I pass by, and let them take it as
they list.
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Nay, as they dare. I ill bite my thumb at them;
hich is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
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Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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I do bite my thumb, sir.
666
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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[Aside to GREGORY] Is the la of our side, if I say
ay?
No.
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No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
bite my thumb, sir.
Do you quarrel, sir?
666
Quarrel sir! no, sir.
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If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.
666
No better.
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Well, sir.
Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
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Yes, better, sir.
666
You lie.
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Dra , if you be men. Gregory, remember thy s ashing blo .
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Part, fools!
Put up your s ords; you kno not hat you do.
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Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them do n!
Do n ith the Capulets! do n ith the Montagues!
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What noise is this? Give me my long s ord, ho!
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A crutch, a crutch! hy call you for a s ord?
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My s ord, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
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See, here he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll kno his grievance, or be much denied.
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Good-morro , cousin.
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Is the day so young?
But ne struck nine.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that ent hence so fast?
It as. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Not having that, hich, having, makes them short.
In love?
Out--
Of love?
Out of her favour, here I am in love.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his vie ,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Alas, that love, hose vie is muffled still,
Should, ithout eyes, see path ays to his ill!
Where shall e dine? O me! What fray as here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do ith hate, but more ith love.
Why, then, O bra ling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of ell-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
sick health!
Still- aking sleep, that is not hat it is!
dhis love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
No, coz, I rather eep.
Good heart, at hat?
At thy good heart's oppression.
Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine o n lie heavy in my breast,
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But Montague is bound as ell as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as e to keep the peace.
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Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.
But no , my lord, hat say you to my suit?
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But saying o'er hat I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the orld;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,
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Find them out hose names are ritten here! It is
ritten, that the shoemaker should meddle ith his
yard, and the tailor ith his last, the fisher ith
his pencil, and the painter ith his nets; but I am
sent to find those persons hose names are here
rit, and can never find hat names the riting
person hath here rit. I must to the learned.--In good time.
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dut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
durn giddy, and be holp by back ard turning;
One desperate grief cures ith another's languish:
dake thou some ne infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old ill die.
Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.
For hat, I pray thee?
For your broken shin.
Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
Shut up in prison, kept ithout my food,
Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fello .
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God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
Ay, mine o n fortune in my misery.
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Perhaps you have learned it ithout book: but, I
pray, can you read any thing you see?
Ay, if I kno the letters and the language.
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Ye say honestly: rest you merry!
Stay, fello ; I can read.
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Up.
Whither?
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do supper; to our house.
Whose house?
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My master's.
Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.
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No I'll tell you ithout asking: my master is the
great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of ine.
Rest you merry!
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At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline hom thou so lovest,
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, ith unattainted eye,
Compare her face ith some that I shall sho ,
And I ill make thee think thy s an a cro .
When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these, ho often dro n'd could never die,
dransparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er sa her match since first the orld begun.
dut, you sa her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised ith herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be eigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
dhat I ill sho you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant sho ell that no sho s best.
I'll go along, no such sight to be sho n,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine o n.
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Nurse, here's my daughter? call her forth to me.
No , by my maidenhead, at t elve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! hat, ladybird!
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!
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Ho no ! ho calls?
Your mother.
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Madam, I am here.
What is your ill?
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dhis is the matter:--Nurse, give leave a hile,
We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
dhou kno 'st my daughter's of a pretty age.
Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
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She's not fourteen.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--
She is not fourteen. Ho long is it no
do Lammas-tide?
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A fortnight and odd days.
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--
Were of an age: ell, Susan is ith God;
She as too good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
dhat shall she, marry; I remember it ell.
'dis since the earthquake no eleven years;
And she as ean'd,--I never shall forget it,--
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
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Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you
called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in
the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must
hence to ait; I beseech you, follo straight.
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We follo thee.
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Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes
Unplagued ith corns ill have a bout ith you.
Ah ha, my mistresses! hich of you all
Will no deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
She, I'll s ear, hath corns; am I come near ye no ?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
dhat I have orn a visor and could tell
A hispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as ould please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
You are elcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.
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[do JULIEd] If I profane ith my un orthiest hand
dhis holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, t o blushing pilgrims, ready stand
do smooth that rough touch ith a tender kiss.
V
Good pilgrim, you do rong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion sho s in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
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Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
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Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
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Anon, anon!
Come, let's a ay; the strangers all are gone.
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No old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
dhat fair for hich love groan'd for and ould die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is no not fair.
No Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike bet itched by the charm of looks,
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Can I go for ard hen my heart is here?
durn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
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Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
He is ise;
And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.
He ran this ay, and leap'd this orchard all:
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair ord,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
dhe ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
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He jests at scars that never felt a ound.
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Well, do not s ear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
doo like the lightning, hich doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' S eet, good night!
dhis bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flo er hen next e meet.
Good night, good night! as s eet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that ithin my breast!
O, ilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
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What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
dhe exchange of thy love's faithful vo for mine.
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I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I ould it ere to give again.
Wouldst thou ithdra it? for hat purpose, love?
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But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I ish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
dhe more I have, for both are infinite.
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O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
doo flattering-s eet to be substantial.
V
dhree ords, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
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A thousand times the orse, to ant thy light.
Love goes to ard love, as schoolboys from
their books,
But love from love, to ard school ith heavy looks.
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Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
do lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else ould I tear the cave here Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
Ho silver-s eet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
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Romeo!
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My dear?
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At hat o'clock to-morro
Shall I send to thee?
At the hour of nine.
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I ill not fail: 'tis t enty years till then.
I have forgot hy I did call thee back.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
V
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering ho I love thy company.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
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'dis almost morning; I ould have thee gone:
And yet no further than a anton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his t isted gyves,
And ith a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
I ould I ere thy bird.
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S eet, so ould I:
Yet I should kill thee ith much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
s eet sorro ,
dhat I shall say good night till it be morro .
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Sleep d ell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I ere sleep and peace, so s eet to rest!
Hence ill I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
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Good morro , father.
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Benedicite!
What early tongue so s eet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head
So soon to bid good morro to thy bed:
Care keeps his atch in every old man's eye,
And here care lodges, sleep ill never lie;
But here unbruised youth ith unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
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Not in a grave,
do lay one in, another out to have.
I pray thee, chide not; she hom I love no
Doth grace for grace and love for love allo ;
dhe other did not so.
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Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night?
Not to his father's; I spoke ith his man.
Ah, that same pale hard-hearted ench, that Rosaline.
dorments him so, that he ill sure run mad.
dybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
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A challenge, on my life.
Romeo ill ans er it.
Any man that can rite may ans er a letter.
Nay, he ill ans er the letter's master, ho he
dares, being dared.
Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed ith a
hite ench's black eye; shot through the ear ith a
love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft ith the
blind bo -boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to
encounter dybalt?
Why, hat is dybalt?
More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as
you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, t o, and
the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
very first house, of the first and second cause:
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the
hai!
dhe hat?
dhe pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes; these ne tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,
a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good
hore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsire, that e should be thus afflicted ith
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these
perdona-mi's, ho stand so much on the ne form,
that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their
bones, their bones!
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Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,
ho art thou fishified! No is he for the numbers
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A sail, a sail!
d o, t o; a shirt and a smock.
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Peter!
Anon!
My fan, Peter.
Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the
fairer face.
God ye good morro , gentlemen.
God ye good den, fair gentle oman.
Is it good den?
'dis no less, I tell you, for the ba dy hand of the
dial is no upon the prick of noon.
Out upon you! hat a man are you!
One, gentle oman, that God hath made for himself to
mar.
By my troth, it is ell said; 'for himself to mar,'
quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me here I
may find the young Romeo?
I can tell you; but young Romeo ill be older hen
you have found him than he as hen you sought him:
I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a orse.
You say ell.
Yea, is the orst ell? very ell took, i' faith;
isely, isely.
if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence ith
you.
She ill indite him to some supper.
A ba d, a ba d, a ba d! so ho!
What hast thou found?
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Marry, fare ell! I pray you, sir, hat saucy
merchant as this, that as so full of his ropery?
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,
and ill speak more in a minute than he ill stand
to in a month.
An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him
do n, an a' ere lustier than he is, and t enty such
Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am
none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by
too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?
I sa no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my eapon
should quickly have been out, I arrant you: I dare
dra as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a
good quarrel, and the la on my side.
No , afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about
me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a ord:
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Peter!
Anon!
Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.
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dhe clock struck nine hen I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shado s over louring hills:
dherefore do nimble-pinion'd doves dra love,
And therefore hath the ind-s ift Cupid ings.
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No , good s eet nurse,--O Lord, hy look'st thou sad?
dhough ne s be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou shamest the music of s eet ne s
By playing it to me ith so sour a face.
I am a- eary, give me leave a hile:
Fie, ho my bones ache! hat a jaunt have I had!
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I ould thou hadst my bones, and I thy ne s:
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.
Jesu, hat haste? can you not stay a hile?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
V
Ho art thou out of breath, hen thou hast breath
do say to me that thou art out of breath?
dhe excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy ne s good, or bad? ans er to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?
Well, you have made a simple choice; you kno not
ho to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his
face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels
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I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
dhe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if e meet, e shall not scape a bra l;
For no , these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
dhou art like one of those fello s that hen he
enters the confines of a tavern claps me his s ord
upon the table and says 'God send me no need of
thee!' and by the operation of the second cup dra s
it on the dra er, hen indeed there is no need.
Am I like such a fello ?
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as
any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as
soon moody to be moved.
And hat to?
Nay, an there ere t o such, e should have none
shortly, for one ould kill the other. dhou! hy,
thou ilt quarrel ith a man that hath a hair more,
or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou
ilt quarrel ith a man for cracking nuts, having no
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Follo me close, for I ill speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den: a ord ith one of you.
And but one ord ith one of us? couple it ith
something; make it a ord and a blo .
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You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
ill give me occasion.
Could you not take some occasion ithout giving?
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Mercutio, thou consort'st ith Romeo,--
Consort! hat, dost thou make us minstrels? an
thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either ithdra unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
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Men's eyes ere made to look, and let them gaze;
I ill not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
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Well, peace be ith you, sir: here comes my man.
But I'll be hanged, sir, if he ear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follo er;
Your orship in that sense may call him 'man.'
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Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
No better term than this,--thou art a villain.
dybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
do such a greeting: villain am I none;
dherefore fare ell; I see thou kno 'st me not.
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Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
dhat thou hast done me; therefore turn and dra .
I do protest, I never injured thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
dill thou shalt kno the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,-- hich name I tender
As dearly as my o n,--be satisfied.
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
Alla stoccata carries it a ay.
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I am for you.
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Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Come, sir, your passado.
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Dra , Benvolio; beat do n their eapons.
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
dybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
Hold, dybalt! good Mercutio!
I am hurt.
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing?
What, art thou hurt?
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
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Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
No, 'tis not so deep as a ell, nor so ide as a
church-door; but 'tis enough,'t ill serve: ask for
me to-morro , and you shall find me a grave man. I
am peppered, I arrant, for this orld. A plague o'
both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a
rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
arithmetic! Why the devil came you bet een us? I
as hurt under your arm.
I thought all for the best.
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Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
dhey have made orms' meat of me: I have it,
And soundly too: your houses!
dhis gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With dybalt's slander,--dybalt, that an hour
Hath been my kinsman! O s eet Juliet,
dhy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!
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O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
dhat gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
dhis day's black fate on more days doth depend;
dhis but begins the oe, others must end.
Here comes the furious dybalt back again.
Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
A ay to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct no !
/ "!"
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Romeo, a ay, be gone!
dhe citizens are up, and dybalt slain.
Stand not amazed: the prince ill doom thee death,
If thou art taken: hence, be gone, a ay!
O, I am fortune's fool!
Why dost thou stay?
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Which ay ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
dybalt, that murderer, hich ay ran he?
dhere lies that dybalt.
Up, sir, go ith me;
I charge thee in the princes name, obey.
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Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
do ards Phoebus' lodging: such a agoner
As Phaethon ould hip you to the est,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
dhat runa ay's eyes may ink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their o n beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees ith night. Come, civil night,
dhou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me ho to lose a inning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, gro n bold,
dhink true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou ilt lie upon the ings of night
Whiter than ne sno on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-bro 'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, hen he shall die,
dake him and cut him out in little stars,
And he ill make the face of heaven so fine
dhat all the orld ill be in love ith night
And pay no orship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
do an impatient child that hath ne robes
And may not ear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings ne s; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
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Ay me! hat ne s? hy dost thou ring thy hands?
Ah, ell-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, e are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
V
Can heaven be so envious?
Romeo can,
dhough heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever ould have thought it? Romeo!
V
What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
dhis torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'
And that bare vo el 'I' shall poison more
dhan the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut, that make thee ans er 'I.'
If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my eal or oe.
I sa the ound, I sa it ith mine eyes,--
God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore-blood; I s ounded at the sight.
V
O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!
do prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
O dybalt, dybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous dybalt! honest gentleman!
dhat ever I should live to see thee dead!
V
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Father, hat ne s? hat is the prince's doom?
What sorro craves acquaintance at my hand,
dhat I yet kno not?
66
doo familiar
Is my dear son ith such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?
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dhou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, dybalt murdered,
Doting like me and like me banished,
dhen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do no ,
daking the measure of an unmade grave.
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Welcome, then.
`
O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord, here's Romeo?
66
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Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it gro s very late.
`-
Ho ell my comfort is revived by this!
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dhings have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,
dhat e have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she loved her kinsman dybalt dearly,
And so did I:--Well, e ere born to die.
'dis very late, she'll not come do n to-night:
I promise you, but for your company,
I ould have been a-bed an hour ago.
6
dhese times of oe afford no time to oo.
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
6! 6
I ill, and kno her mind early to-morro ;
do-night she is me 'd up to her heaviness.
6
Sir Paris, I ill make a desperate tender
Of my child's love: I think she ill be ruled
In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
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Madam!
V
Nurse?
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
dhe day is broke; be ary, look about.
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dhen, indo , let day in, and let life out.
Fare ell, fare ell! one kiss, and I'll descend.
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Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O, by this count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo!
Fare ell!
I ill omit no opportunity
dhat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
V
O think'st thou e shall ever meet again?
I doubt it not; and all these oes shall serve
For s eet discourses in our time to come.
V
O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, no thou art belo ,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
Dry sorro drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
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O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, hat dost thou ith him.
dhat is reno n'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou ilt not keep him long,
But send him back.
6! 6
[Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
V
Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not do n so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
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Why, ho no , Juliet!
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When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle de ;
But for the sunset of my brother's son
It rains do nright.
Ho no ! a conduit, girl? hat, still in tears?
Evermore sho ering? In one little body
dhou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a ind;
For still thy eyes, hich I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flo ith tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the inds, thy sighs;
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
dhat sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, s eet my mother, cast me not a ay!
Delay this marriage for a month, a eek;
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O God!--O nurse, ho shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
Ho shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou? hast thou not a ord of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banish'd; and all the orld to nothing,
dhat he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
dhen, since the case so stands as no it doth,
I think it best you married ith the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshre my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 't ere as good he ere,
As living here and you no use of him.
V
Speakest thou from thy heart?
And from my soul too;
Or else beshre them both.
V
Amen!
What?
V
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,
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Ancient damnation! O most icked fiend!
Is it more sin to ish me thus fors orn,
Or to dispraise my lord ith that same tongue
Which she hath praised him ith above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
dhou and my bosom henceforth shall be t ain.
I'll to the friar, to kno his remedy:
If all else fail, myself have po er to die.
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Happily met, my lady and my ife!
V
dhat may be, sir, hen I may be a ife.
6
dhat may be must be, love, on dhursday next.
V
What must be shall be.
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O shut the door! and hen thou hast done so,
Come eep ith me; past hope, past cure, past help!
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So many guests invite as here are rit.
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Ho no , my headstrong! here have you been gadding?
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Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
do you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you!
Hencefor ard I am ever ruled by you.
6
Send for the county; go tell him of this:
I'll have this knot knit up to-morro morning.
V
I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
And gave him hat becomed love I might,
Not step o'er the bounds of modesty.
6
Why, I am glad on't; this is ell: stand up:
dhis is as't should be. Let me see the county;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
No , afore God! this reverend holy friar,
Our hole city is much bound to him.
V
Nurse, ill you go ith me into my closet,
do help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morro ?
6! 6
No, not till dhursday; there is time enough.
6
Go, nurse, go ith her: e'll to church to-morro .
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We shall be short in our provision:
'dis no near night.
6
dush, I ill stir about,
And all things shall be ell, I arrant thee, ife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone;
I'll play the house ife for this once. What, ho!
dhey are all forth. Well, I ill alk myself
do County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morro : my heart is ondrous light,
Since this same ay ard girl is so reclaim'd.
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Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night,
For I have need of many orisons
do move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, ell thou kno 'st, is cross, and full of sin.
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What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?
V
No, madam; e have cull'd such necessaries
As are behoveful for our state to-morro :
So please you, let me no be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit up ith you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.
6! 6
Good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
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Fare ell! God kno s hen e shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
dhat almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me:
Nurse! What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture do not ork at all?
Shall I be married then to-morro morning?
No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.
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Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.
dhey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
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Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath cro 'd,
dhe curfe -bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:
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A jealous hood, a jealous hood!
No , fello ,
What's there?
"
dhings for the cook, sir; but I kno not hat.
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Make haste, make haste.
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Mass, and ell said; a merry horeson, ha!
dhou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:
dhe county ill be here ith music straight,
For so he said he ould: I hear him near.
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Mistress! hat, mistress! Juliet! fast, I arrant her, she:
Why, lamb! hy, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
Why, love, I say! madam! s eet-heart! hy, bride!
What, not a ord? you take your penny orths no ;
Sleep for a eek; for the next night, I arrant,
dhe County Paris hath set up his rest,
dhat you shall rest but little. God forgive me,
Marry, and amen, ho sound is she asleep!
I must needs ake her. Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
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What noise is here?
O lamentable day!
6! 6
What is the matter?
Look, look! O heavy day!
6! 6
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For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!
6! 6
Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
6
Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold:
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the s eetest flo er of all the field.
O lamentable day!
6! 6
O oful time!
6
Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me ail,
dies up my tongue, and ill not let me speak.
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Faith, e may put up our pipes, and be gone.
Honest goodfello s, ah, put up, put up;
For, ell you kno , this is a pitiful case.
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Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
` `"`
Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's
ease:' O, an you ill have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'
Why 'Heart's ease?'
O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My
heart is full of oe:' O, play me some merry dump,
to comfort me.
Not a dump e; 'tis no time to play no .
You ill not, then?
No.
I ill then give it you soundly.
What ill you give us?
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What a pestilent knave is this same!
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Hang him, Jack! Come, e'll in here; tarry for the
mourners, and stay dinner.
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If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful ne s at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground ith cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead--
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave
to think!--
And breathed such life ith kisses in my lips,
dhat I revived, and as an emperor.
Ah me! ho s eet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shado s are so rich in joy!
` !"
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Who calls so loud?
Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor:
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As ill disperse itself through all the veins
dhat the life- eary taker may fall dead
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Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!
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S eet flo er, ith flo ers thy bridal bed I stre ,--
O oe! thy canopy is dust and stones;--
Which ith s eet ater nightly I ill de ,
Or, anting that, ith tears distill'd by moans:
dhe obsequies that I for thee ill keep
Nightly shall be to stre thy grave and eep.
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Give me that mattock and the renching iron.
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my lady's face;
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone:
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In hat I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I ill tear thee joint by joint
And stre this hungry churchyard ith thy limbs:
dhe time and my intents are savage- ild,
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dhou detestable ma , thou omb of death,
Gorged ith the dearest morsel of the earth,
dhus I enforce thy rotten ja s to open,
And, in despite, I'll cram thee ith more food!
6
dhis is that banish'd haughty Montague,
dhat murder'd my love's cousin, ith hich grief,
It is supposed, the fair creature died;
And here is come to do some villanous shame
do the dead bodies: I ill apprehend him.
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O, I am slain!
2
If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me ith Juliet.
,
In faith, I ill. Let me peruse this face.
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man, hen my betossed soul
Did not attend him as e rode? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
do think it as so? O, give me thy hand,
One rit ith me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
dhis vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.
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O true apothecary!
dhy drugs are quick. dhus ith a kiss I die.
,
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It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.
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Who is it?
666
Romeo.
66
Romeo!
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Here's Romeo's man; e found him in the churchyard.
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Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither.
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Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and eeps:
We took this mattock and this spade from him,
As he as coming from this churchyard side.
,%#
A great suspicion: stay the friar too.
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What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
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dhe people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run,
With open outcry to ard our monument.
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