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art thou banished beauty Benvolio blood bring Capulet comes County cousin dead dear death doth dream early ears earth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair faith fall Farewell father fear flower Friar gentle give gone grave grief hand hath head hear heart heaven hence Hold holy hour I'll Juliet keep Lady Cap leave letter lies light lips live look lord Madam maid married mean Mercutio Montague mother move never night Nurse Paris peace Peter play poor Prince rest Romeo Scene Serv sleep sound speak stand stay sweet tears tell thee thing thou art thou hast thou wilt to-night true turn Tybalt villain wall watch wife young
Page 107 - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Page 38 - For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give ; Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime 's by action dignified.
Page 31 - tis not to me she speaks : Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head...
Page 34 - Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens'.
Page 34 - O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Page 57 - tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
Page 30 - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she...
Page 33 - Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false: at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.