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When the now famous "star crossed lovers" of two feuding families meet, forbidden love ensues.
Romeo: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a gentle kiss.
Juliet: Yea, noise! Then I'll be brief. Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath; there rust and let me die.
Juliet: That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet
Benvolio: By my head, here comes the Capulets. Mercutio: By my heel, I care not.
Juliet: Love give me strength. [she drinks the potion]
Romeo: Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Juliet: My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late.
Romeo: Thus with a kiss I die.
Juliet: Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Narrator: Two households, both alike in dignity / In fair Verona, where we lay our scene / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life / Whose misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
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 ay? 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, sir. Abraham: You lie. Sampson: Draw, if you be men! Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
Mercutio: Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? If thou makes us minstrels, look to hear nothing but discords. Here's my fiddlestick [draws sword] Mercutio: ; here's that will make you dance. Zounds, consort!
Romeo: Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Romeo: But soft; what light through yonder window breaks? It is my lady! O, it is my love. O that she knew she were.
Mercutio: A plague on both your houses. They've made worm's meat of me.
Tybalt: What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? [draws sword] Tybalt: Turn thee, Benvolio. Look upon thy death. Benvolio: I do but keep the peace. Now, put away your sword or manage it to part these men with me. Tybalt: [laughs] What? Drawn and you talk of peace? I hate the word as i hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward!
[enter Juliet above at a window] Romeo: But soft. What light through yonder window breaks?
The Prince: Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished.
Lady Capulet: I beg for justice, which thou prince must give! Romeo slew Tybalt... Romeo must not live! The Prince: Romeo slew him... He slew Mercutio. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Lord Montague: Not Romeo, Prince! He was Mercutio's friend. His fault concludes but what the law should end-the life of Tybalt! The Prince: And for that offense, immediately we do exile him hence! Let Romeo hence in haste... Else, when he is found... that hour is his last.
Lord Capulet: O lamentable day! Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Narrator: A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
Romeo: O,she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
Tybalt: Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe! Lord Capulet: Hmmm? Tybalt: A villain that hath come in spite / To scorn at our solemnity this night! Lord Capulet: Young Romeo, is it?
Gregory: Do you quarrel , Sir? Abraham: Quarrel, Sir? No, Sir.