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A street in the city of Verona. In the background, the fronts of houses and other buildings can be seen. |
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Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and SERVANT |
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Capulet |
But Montague is bound as well as I, |
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In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, |
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For men so old as we to keep the peace. |
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Paris |
Of honourable reckoning are you both; |
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And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. |
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But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? |
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Capulet |
But saying o'er what I have said before: |
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My child is yet a stranger in the world; |
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She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, |
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Let two more summers wither in their pride, |
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Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. |
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Paris |
Younger than she are happy mothers made. |
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Capulet |
And too soon marr'd are those so early made. |
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The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, |
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She is the hopeful lady of my earth: |
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But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, |
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My will to her consent is but a part; |
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An she agree, within her scope of choice |
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Lies my consent and fair according voice. |
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This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, |
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Whereto I have invited many a guest, |
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Such as I love; and you, among the store, |
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One more, most welcome, makes my number more. |
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At my poor house look to behold this night |
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Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: |
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Such comfort as do lusty young men feel |
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When well-apparell'd April on the heel |
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Of limping winter treads, even such delight |
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Among fresh female buds shall you this night |
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Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, |
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And like her most whose merit most shall be: |
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Which on more view, of many mine being one |
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May stand in number, though in reckoning none, |
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To Servant, giving a paper |
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Through fair Verona; find those persons out |
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Whose names are written there, and to them say, |
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My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. |
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Peter |
Find them out whose names are written here! It is |
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written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his |
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yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with |
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his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am |
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sent to find those persons whose names are here |
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writ, and can never find what names the writing |
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person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. |
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Benvolio |
Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, |
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One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; |
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Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; |
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One desperate grief cures with another's languish: |
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Take thou some new infection to thy eye, |
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And the rank poison of the old will die. |
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Romeo |
Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. |
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Benvolio |
For what, I pray thee? |
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Romeo |
For your broken shin. |
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Benvolio |
Why, Romeo, art thou mad? |
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Romeo |
Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; |
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Shut up in prison, kept without my food, |
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Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. |
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Peter |
God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? |
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Romeo |
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. |
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Peter |
Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I |
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pray, can you read any thing you see? |
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Romeo |
Ay, if I know the letters and the language. |
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Peter |
Ye say honestly: rest you merry! |
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Romeo |
Stay, fellow; I can read. |
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'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; |
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County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady |
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widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely |
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nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine |
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uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece |
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Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin |
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Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair |
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assembly: whither should they come? |
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Peter |
To supper; to our house. |
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Romeo |
Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. |
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Peter |
Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the |
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great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house |
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of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. |
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Benvolio |
At this same ancient feast of Capulet's |
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Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, |
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With all the admired beauties of Verona: |
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Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, |
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Compare her face with some that I shall show, |
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And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. |
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Romeo |
When the devout religion of mine eye |
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Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; |
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And these, who often drown'd could never die, |
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Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! |
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One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun |
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Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. |
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Benvolio |
Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, |
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Herself poised with herself in either eye: |
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But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd |
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Your lady's love against some other maid |
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That I will show you shining at this feast, |
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And she shall scant show well that now shows best. |
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Romeo |
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, |
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But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. |
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