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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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The city of Verona, Italy. The stage is set to look like a street market.
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Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers |
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Sampson |
Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals. |
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Gregory |
No, for then we should be colliers. |
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Sampson |
I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. |
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Gregory |
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar. |
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Sampson |
I strike quickly, being moved. |
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Gregory |
But thou art not quickly moved to strike. |
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Sampson |
A dog of the house of Montague moves me. |
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Gregory |
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand, |
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therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. |
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Sampson |
A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will |
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take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. |
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Gregory |
That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes |
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Sampson |
True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, |
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are ever thrust to the wall; therefore I will push |
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Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids |
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Gregory |
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. |
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Sampson |
'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, |
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I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. |
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Gregory |
The heads of the maids? |
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Sampson |
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; |
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take it in what sense thou wilt. |
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Gregory |
They must take it in sense that feel it. |
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Sampson |
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and |
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'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. |
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Gregory |
'Tis well thou art not fish. If thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-john. |
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Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. |
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Sampson |
My naked weapon is out. Quarrel, I will back thee. |
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Gregory |
How! Turn thy back and run? |
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Gregory |
No, marry, I fear thee! |
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Sampson |
Let us take the law of our sides. Let them begin. |
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Gregory |
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. |
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Sampson |
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; |
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which is a disgrace to them if they bear it. |
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Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR |
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Abraham |
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? |
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Sampson |
I do bite my thumb, sir. |
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Abraham |
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? |
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Sampson |
[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? |
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Sampson |
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I |
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Gregory |
Do you quarrel, sir? |
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Abraham |
Quarrel sir! no, sir. |
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Sampson |
If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. |
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Gregory |
Say 'better.' Here comes one of my master's kinsmen. |
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Sampson |
Yes, better, sir. |
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Sampson |
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. |
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Put up your swords; you know not what you do. |
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Tybalt |
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? |
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Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. |
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Benvolio |
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, |
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Or manage it to part these men with me. |
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Tybalt |
What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, |
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As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. |
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Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter |
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First Citizen |
Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! |
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Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! |
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Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET |
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Capulet |
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! |
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Lady Capulet |
A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? |
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Capulet |
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, |
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And flourishes his blade in spite of me. |
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Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE |
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Montague |
Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go. |
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Lady Montague |
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. |
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Enter PRINCE, with Attendants |
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Prince |
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, |
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Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- |
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Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, |
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That quench the fire of your pernicious rage |
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With purple fountains issuing from your veins, |
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On pain of torture, from those bloody hands |
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Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, |
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And hear the sentence of your moved prince. |
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Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, |
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By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, |
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Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, |
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And made Verona's ancient citizens |
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Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, |
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To wield old partisans, in hands as old, |
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Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: |
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If ever you disturb our streets again, |
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Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. |
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For this time, all the rest depart away: |
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You Capulet; shall go along with me: |
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And, Montague, come you this afternoon, |
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To know our further pleasure in this case, |
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To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. |
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Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. |
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Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO |
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Montague |
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? |
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Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? |
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Benvolio |
Here were the servants of your adversary, |
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And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: |
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I drew to part them: in the instant came |
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The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, |
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Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, |
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He swung about his head and cut the winds, |
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Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: |
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While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, |
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Came more and more and fought on part and part, |
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Till the prince came, who parted either part. |
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Lady Montague |
O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? |
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Right glad I am he was not at this fray. |
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Benvolio |
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun |
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Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, |
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A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; |
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Where, underneath the grove of sycamore |
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That westward rooteth from the city's side, |
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So early walking did I see your son: |
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Towards him I made, but he was ware of me |
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And stole into the covert of the wood: |
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I, measuring his affections by my own, |
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That most are busied when they're most alone, |
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Pursued my humour not pursuing his, |
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And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. |
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Montague |
Many a morning hath he there been seen, |
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With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. |
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Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; |
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But all so soon as the all-cheering sun |
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Should in the furthest east begin to draw |
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The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, |
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Away from the light steals home my heavy son, |
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And private in his chamber pens himself, |
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Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out |
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And makes himself an artificial night: |
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Black and portentous must this humour prove, |
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Unless good counsel may the cause remove. |
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Benvolio |
My noble uncle, do you know the cause? |
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I neither know it nor can learn of him. |
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Benvolio |
Have you importuned him by any means? |
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Montague |
Both by myself and many other friends: |
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But he, his own affections' counsellor, |
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Is to himself--I will not say how true-- |
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But to himself so secret and so close, |
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So far from sounding and discovery, |
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As is the bud bit with an envious worm, |
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Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, |
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Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. |
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Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. |
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We would as willingly give cure as know. |
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Benvolio |
See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; |
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I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. |
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Montague |
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, |
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To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. |
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Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE |
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Benvolio |
Good-morrow, cousin. |
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Romeo |
Is the day so young? |
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Benvolio |
But new struck nine. |
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Romeo |
Ay me! sad hours seem long. |
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Was that my father that went hence so fast? |
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Benvolio |
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? |
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Romeo |
Not having that, which, having, makes them short. |
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Romeo |
Out of her favour, where I am in love. |
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Benvolio |
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, |
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Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! |
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Romeo |
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, |
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Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! |
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Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? |
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Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. |
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Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. |
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Why, then, O brawling love, O loving hate, |
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O anything, of nothing first create; |
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O heavy lightness, serious vanity, |
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Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, |
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Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, |
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Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! |
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This love feel I, that feel no love in this. |
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Benvolio |
No, coz, I rather weep. |
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Romeo |
Good heart, at what? |
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Benvolio |
At thy good heart's oppression. |
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Romeo |
Why, such is love's transgression. |
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Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, |
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Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest |
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With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown |
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Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. |
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Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; |
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Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; |
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Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: |
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What is it else? a madness most discreet, |
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A choking gall and a preserving sweet. |
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Benvolio |
Soft! I will go along; |
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An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. |
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Romeo |
Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; |
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This is not Romeo, he's some other where. |
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Benvolio |
Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. |
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Romeo |
What, shall I groan and tell thee? |
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Benvolio |
Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. |
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Romeo |
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: |
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Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! |
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In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. |
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Benvolio |
I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. |
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Romeo |
A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. |
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Benvolio |
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. |
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Romeo |
Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit |
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With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; |
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And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, |
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From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. |
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She will not stay the siege of loving terms, |
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Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, |
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Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: |
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O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, |
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That when she dies with beauty dies her store. |
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Benvolio |
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? |
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Romeo |
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, |
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For beauty starved with her severity |
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Cuts beauty off from all posterity. |
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She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, |
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To merit bliss by making me despair: |
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She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow |
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Do I live dead that live to tell it now. |
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Benvolio |
Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. |
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Romeo |
O, teach me how I should forget to think. |
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Benvolio |
By giving liberty unto thine eyes; |
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To call hers exquisite, in question more: |
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These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows |
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Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; |
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He that is strucken blind cannot forget |
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The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: |
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Show me a mistress that is passing fair, |
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What doth her beauty serve, but as a note |
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Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? |
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Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. |
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Benvolio |
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. |
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