|Chorus||From forth the fatal loins of these two foes/A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life.|
|Juliet||That which we calla rose/By another name would smell as sweet|
|Juliet||My bounty is as boundless as the sea,/My love as deep; the more I give to thee,/The more I have, for both are infinite.|
|Montague||Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.|
|Friar Lawrence||Love moderately;long love doth so./Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.|
|Nurse||Is this the poultice for my achine bones?/Henceforward do your messages yourself.|
|Juliet||Indeed, I never shall be satisfied/With Romeo till I behold him-dead-/Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vexed.|
|Friar Lawrence||Ah, what an unkind hour/Is guilty of this lamentable chance?|
|Capulet||Ladies that have their toes/Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.|
|Romeo||He jests at scars that never felt a wound.|
|Sampson||When I have fought with the men,/I will be civil with the maids.|
|Juliet||O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,/That monthly changes in her circled orb,/Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.|
|Benvolio||Compare her face with some that I shall show,/And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.|
|Juliet||Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day./It was the nightingale, and not the lark...|
|Paris||These times of woe afford no time to woo|
|Capulet||My heart is wondrous light,/Since this same wayward girl is so reclaimed.|
|Nurse||I shall never forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he;/And the pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'|
|Prince Escalus||Let Romeo hence in haste,/Else, when he's found, that hour is his last|
|Romeo||Here's must to do with hate, but more with love./Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate.|
|Friar Lawrence||If aught in this/Miscarried by my fault, let my old life/Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,/Unto the rigor of severest law.|
|Capulet||Death lies on her like an untimely frost/Upon the sweetest flower of all the field|
|Chorus||Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean|
|Friar John||I could not send it-here it is again-/Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,/So fearful were they of infection.|
|Mercutio||Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?/Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.|
|Juliet||I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.|
|Friar Lawrence||These violent delights have violent ends|
|Romeo||O, I am fortune's fool!|
|Montague||But I can give thee more;/For I will raise her statue in puer gold.|
|Nurse||There's no trust,/No faith, no honesty in men.|
|Tybalt||What, drawn...and talk of peace? I hate the word/As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.|
|Paris||Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague./Can vengeance be pursued further than death?|
|Romeo||Ay, me! Sad hours seem long.|
|Juliet||Good night, good night!|
|FRIAR LAWRENCE|| Young men's love then lies |
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
|MERCUTIO||Alas, poor Romeo! He is already dead, stabbed with a white wench's black eye, shot through the ear with a love song|
|ROMEO|| My life were better ended by their hate, |
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
|FRIAR LAWRENCE|| The sweetest honey |
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
|Romeo|| Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand|
That I might touch that cheek!
|MERCUTIO||Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes.|
|CAPULET|| He bears him like a portly gentleman, |
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
|BENVOLIO|| We talk here in the public haunt of men.|
Either withdraw unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us.
|ROMEO|| Hang up philosophy! |
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
|ROMEO|| Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!|
Give me my sin again.
|ROMEO|| O, what more favor can I do to thee, |
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy?
|TYBALT|| I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall|
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitterest gall.
|ROMEO|| Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye|
Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.