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| Romeo |
In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. |
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Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! |
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What said my man, when my betossed soul |
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Did not attend him as we rode? I think |
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He told me Paris should have married Juliet: |
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Said he not so? or did I dream it so? |
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Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, |
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To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, |
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One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! |
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I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; |
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A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, |
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For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes |
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This vault a feasting presence full of light. |
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Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. |
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How oft when men are at the point of death |
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Have they been merry! which their keepers call |
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A lightning before death: O, how may I |
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Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! |
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Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, |
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Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: |
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Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet |
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Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, |
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And death's pale flag is not advanced there. |
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Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? |
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O, what more favour can I do to thee, |
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Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain |
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To sunder his that was thine enemy? |
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Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, |
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Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe |
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That unsubstantial death is amorous, |
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And that the lean abhorred monster keeps |
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Thee here in dark to be his paramour? |
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For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; |
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And never from this palace of dim night |
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Depart again: here, here will I remain |
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With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here |
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Will I set up my everlasting rest, |
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And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars |
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From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! |
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Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you |
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The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss |
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A dateless bargain to engrossing death! |
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Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! |
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Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on |
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The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! |
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Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. |
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Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a |
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