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| Chorus |
Two households, both alike in dignity, |
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In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, |
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From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, |
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Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. |
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From forth the fatal loins of these two foes |
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A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; |
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Whose misadventured piteous overthrows |
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Doth with their death bury their parents' strife. |
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The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, |
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And the continuance of their parents' rage, |
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Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, |
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Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; |
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The which if you with patient ears attend, |
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What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. |
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