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PROLOGUE
CHORUS
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Two households,| both a|like in | dignity,
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In fair | Vero|na, where | we lay | our scene,
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From an|cient grudge | break to | new mut/iny,
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Where civ|il blood | makes^civ|il hands |
unclean.
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From forth | the fat|al loins | of these two
foes
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A pair | of star-crossed lov|ers take | their
life;
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Whose mis|advent|ured pit|eous ov|erthrows
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Do with | their death | bury | their par|ents'
strife.
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The fear|ful pas|sage of their // death-marked
love,
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And the | contin|uance | of their par|ents' rage,
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Which, but | their child|ren's end,| nought could
| remove,
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Is now | the two | hours' traf/fic of | our
stage;
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The which | if you | with pa|tient ears | attend,
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What here | shall miss, | our toil | shall strive
| to mend.
[SCENE I. Verona. A public place.]
[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and
bucklers]
SAMPSON
Gregory: on my word we'll not carry coals.
GREGORY
No, for then we should be colliers.
SAMPSON
I mean, and we be in choler, we'll draw.
GREGORY
Aye, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar.
SAMPSON
I strike quickly, being moved.
GREGORY
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
SAMPSON
A dog of the house of Montague, moves me.
GREGORY
To move, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand: therefore, if thou art
moved, thou runst away.
SAMPSON
A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man
or maid of Montague's.
GREGORY
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.
SAMPSON
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the
wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his
maids to the wall.
GREGORY
The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.
SAMPSON
'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men,
I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.
GREGORY
The heads of the maids?
SAMPSON
Aye, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads, take it in what sense
thou wilt.
GREGORY
They must take it in sense, that feel it.
SAMPSON
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty
piece of flesh.
GREGORY
'Tis well thou art not fish: if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw
thy tool, here comes two of the house of the Montagues.
SAMPSON
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
GREGORY
How? Turn thy back, and run?
SAMPSON
Fear me not.
GREGORY
No marry: I fear thee.
SAMPSON
Let us take the law of our sides: let them begin.
GREGORY
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
SAMPSON
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a disgrace to
them, if they bear it.
ABRAHAM
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON
I do bite my thumb, sir.
ABRAHAM
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON
Is the law of our side, if I say aye?
GREGORY
No.
SAMPSON
No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you sir: but I bite my thumb sir.
GREGORY
Do you quarrel sir?
ABRAHAM
Quarrel sir? no sir.
SAMPSON
If you do sir, I am for you, I serve as good a man as you.
ABRAHAM
No better?
SAMPSON
Well sir.
GREGORY
Say better: here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
SAMPSON
Yes, better.
ABRAHAM
You lie.
SAMPSON
Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
[They fight]
BENVOLIO
Part fools, put up your swords, you know not what you do.
[Enter TYBALT]
TYBALT
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What^art | thou drawn,| among | these heart|less hinds?
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Turn thee | Benvol|io, look | upon | thy death.
BENVOLIO
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I do | but keep | the peace,| put^up | thy sword,
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T T T
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Or man|age it | to part these men | with me.
TYBALT
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What^draw,| and talk | of peace?| I hate | the word
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As I hate | hell, all Mon|tagues,| and thee:
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Have at | thee cow|ard. \\
[They fight. Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter
Citizens, with clubs]
FIRST CITIZEN
Clubs, bills, and partisans, strike, beat them down. Down with the Capulets,
down with the Montagues.
[Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET]
CAPULET
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What noise | is this?| Give me my | long sword
ho.
LADY CAPULET
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A crutch,| a crutch:| why call | you for | a
sword?
CAPULET
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My sword | I say:| Old Mont/ague | is come,
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And flour|ishes | his blade | in spite | of me.
[Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]
MONTAGUE
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Thou vil|lain Cap|ulet. Hold | me not,| let me
go.
LADY MONTAGUE
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Thou shalt | not stir | a foot | to seek | a foe.
[Enter PRINCE, with Attendants]
PRINCE
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Rebel|lious sub|jects, en|emies | to peace,
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Profan|ers of | this neigh|bor-stain|ed 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 | perni|cious
rage,
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With pur|ple fount|ains is|suing from | your
veins:
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On pain | of tor|ture, from | those blood|y hands
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Throw your | mistemp|ered weap|ons to | the
ground,
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And hear | the sent|ence of | your mov|ed prince.
T Tx T
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Three civil brawls,| bred of | an air|y word,
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By thee | old^Cap|ulet | and Mon|tague,
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Have thrice | disturbed | the qui|et of | our
streets,
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And made | Vero|na's an|cient cit|izens
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Cast by | their grave | beseem|ing orn|aments,
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To wield old part|isans,| in hands | as old,
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Cankered | with peace,| to part | your cank|ered
hate,
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If ev|er you | disturb | our streets | again,
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Your lives | shall pay | the for|feit of | the
peace.
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For this | time^all | the rest | depart | away:
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You Cap|ulet | shall go | along | with me,
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And Mon|tague | come you | this aft|ernoon,
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To know | our furth|er pleas|ure in | this case:
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To old Free-town,| our com|mon judg|ment-place:
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Once^more | on pain | of death,| all men | depart.
[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO]
MONTAGUE
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Who set | this an|cient quar|rel new | abroach?
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Speak neph/ew, were | you by,| when it | began:
BENVOLIO
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Here were the | servants | of your | adver|sary,
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And yours close fight|ing ere | I did | approach,
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I drew | to part | them, in | the inst|ant came
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The fie|ry Ty|balt, with | his sword | prepared,
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Which as | he breathed | defi|ance to | my ears,
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He swung | about | his head | and cut | the
winds,
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Who noth|ing hurt | withal,| hissed him | in
scorn.
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While we | were int|erchang|ing 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 part|ed eith|er
part.
LADY MONTAGUE
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O where | is Rom|eo, Saw | you him | today?
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Right^glad | am I,| he was | not^at | this fray.
BENVOLIO
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Madam, | an hour | before | the worsh|ipped sun
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Peered forth the gold|en wind|ow of | the east,
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A troub|led mind | drave me | to walk | abroad,
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Where und|erneath | the grove | of syc|amore,
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That west|ward root|eth from | the ci|ty's side:
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So ear|ly walk|ing did | I see | your son:
x
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Towards him | I made,| but he | was ware | of me,
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And stole | into | the cov|ert of | the wood,
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I meas/uring his | affec|tions by | my own,
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Which^then | most^sought,| where* most |
might^not | be found:
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Being one | too man|y by,| my wear|y self,
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Pursued | my hon|or, not | pursu|ing his
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And glad|ly shunned,| who glad|ly fled | from me.
MONTAGUE
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Many | a morn|ing hath | he there | been seen,
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With tears | augment|ing the / fresh morn|ing
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-cheer|ing sun,
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Should^in | the furth|est east | begin | to draw
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The sha|dy curt|ains from | Auror|a's bed,
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Away | from the light | steals home my hea|vy
son,
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And priv|ate in | his chamb|er pens | himself,
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Shuts up his | windows, locks | fair* day|light^out,
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And makes | himself | an art|ific|ial night:
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Black and | porten|tous must | this hum|or prove,
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Unless | good* couns|el may | the cause | remove.
BENVOLIO
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My nob|le unc|le do | you know | the cause?
MONTAGUE
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I neith|er know | it, nor | can learn | of him.
BENVOLIO
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Have you | impor|tuned him | by an|y means?
MONTAGUE
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Both^by | myself | and ma|ny oth|er's friends,
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But he | his own | affec|tions' couns|ellor,
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Is to | himself |(I will | not^say | how* true)
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But to | himself | so sec|ret and | so close,
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So far | from sound|ing and | discov|ery,
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As is | the bud | bit with | an en|vious worm,
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Ere he | can spread | his sweet | leaves to | the
air,
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Or ded|icate | his beaut|y to | the sun.
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Could we | but learn | from whence | his
sor|rows grow,
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We would | as wil|lingly | give cure,| as know.
[Enter ROMEO]
BENVOLIO
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See where | he comes,| so please | you step |
aside,
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I'll know | his griev|ance, or | be much |
denied.
MONTAGUE
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I would | thou wert | so hap|py by | thy stay,
. T T T
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To hear true shrift.| Come^mad|am let's | away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]
BENVOLIO
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Good mor|row, cous|in.
ROMEO
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Is | the day | so young?
BENVOLIO
. T T T
But^new struck nine.
ROMEO
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Aye* me,| sad^hours | seem^long:
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Was that | my fath|er that | went hence | so fast?
BENVOLIO
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It was:| What sad|ness length|ens Rom|eo's hours?
ROMEO
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Not hav|ing that,| which hav|ing, makes | them short.
BENVOLIO
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In love.
ROMEO
___
Out.
BENVOLIO
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Of love. \\
ROMEO
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Out of | her fav|or, where | I am | in love.
BENVOLIO
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Alas | that love | so gent|le in | his view,
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Should be | so tyr|annous | and rough | in proof.
ROMEO
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Alas | that love,| whose view | is muf|fled
still,
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Should with|out eyes,| see path|ways 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 brawl|ing love,| O lov|ing hate,
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O an|ything,| of noth|ing first | create:
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O hea|vy light|ness, ser|ious van|ity,
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Misshap|en cha|os of / well-seem|ing forms,
, 2
T T T
T T T
T ->
Feather of | lead, bright smoke,| cold fire, sick
|| health,
T T
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2 ,
Still-waking | sleep, that | is not | what it is:
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This love | feel^I,| that feel | no love | in
this.
,
,
Dost thou | not laugh? \\
BENVOLIO
T T . T
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No coz, I rath|er weep.
ROMEO
T
T . T
Good heart, at what?
BENVOLIO
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At thy | good heart's | oppres|sion.
ROMEO
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Why such | is love's | transgres|sion.
(tetra with prev)
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Griefs of | mine^own | lie* hea|vy in | my breast,
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Which thou | wilt pro|pagate | to have | it
pressed
,
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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,
2 ,
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Being purged,| a fire | sparkling | in
lov|ers' eyes,
2 ,
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Being vexed,| a sea | nourished | with lov|ers'
tears,
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What is | it else?| A mad|ness, most | discreet,
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A chok|ing gall,| and a | preserv|ing sweet:
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Farewell | my coz.
BENVOLIO
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Soft I | will go | along.
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And if | you leave | me so,| you do | me wrong.
ROMEO
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Tut I | have lost | myself,| I am / not here,
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This is | not Rom|eo, he's | some oth|er where.
BENVOLIO
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Tell me | in sad|ness, who | is that | you love?
ROMEO
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What shall | I groan | and tell | thee? \\
BENVOLIO
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Groan, why | no: but | sad|ly tell | me who.
ROMEO
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Bid a | sick man | in sad|ness make | his will:
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A word | ill^urged | to one | that is | so^ill:
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In sad|ness cousin,| I do | love a | woman.
BENVOLIO
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I aimed | so near,| when I | supposed | you
loved.
ROMEO
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A right | good mark|man, and | she's fair | I love.
BENVOLIO
. T T T T T
. T ,
A right fair mark,| fair coz, is soon|est hit.
ROMEO
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Well in | that hit | you miss,| she'll not | be
hit
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With Cup|id's ar|row, she | hath Di|an's wit:
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And in / strong proof | of chast|ity / well
armed,
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From love's | weak^child|ish bow,| she lives |uncharmed.
??
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She will | not stay | the siege | of lov|ing
terms,
, 2 ,
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Nor bide | the encount|er of | assail|ing eyes,
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Nor ope | her lap | to saint-|sedu|cing gold:
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O she | is rich | in beaut|y, on|ly poor,
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That when | she dies,| with beaut|y dies | her store.
BENVOLIO
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, T
T T
Then she hath | sworn, that | she will | still live chaste?
ROMEO
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T T T
She hath,| and in that | sparing | makes huge
waste?
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For beaut|y starved | with her | sever|ity,
T T . T ,
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Cuts beauty^off | from all | poster|ity. ??
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She is / too fair,| too^wise:| wisely | too fair,
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To mer|it bliss | by mak|ing 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.
BENVOLIO
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Be ruled | by me,| forget | to think | of her.
ROMEO
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O teach | me how | I should | forget | to think.
BENVOLIO
, , , , ,
By giv|ing lib|erty | unto | thine^eyes,
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Exam|ine oth|er beaut|ies. \\
ROMEO
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,
,
'Tis the way to call hers (exquisite) in question more, ????
, , ,
, ,
These hap|py masks | that kiss | fair* lad|ies' brows,
2 ,
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Being black,| put us | in mind | they hide | the
fair:
, , ,
, ,
He that | is strick|en blind,| cannot | forget
, , , . T T
T
The pre|cious treas|ure of | his eyesight lost:
,
, , , ,
Show me | a mist|ress that | is pas|sing fair,
, , ,
, ,
What doth | her beaut|y serve | but as | a note,
, , ,
, ,
Where I | may read | who passed | that pas|sing
fair.
, ,
, , ,
Farewell | thou canst | not^teach | me to |
forget.
BENVOLIO
, , ,
, ,
I'll pay | that doct|rine, or / else die | in
debt.
[Exeunt]