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Well, Susan is with God,
My lord and you were then at Mantua—
God be with his soul!
“Yea,” quoth he, “dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit, Wilt thou not, Jule?”
Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace.
A bump as big as a young cock’rel’s stone—
“Yea,” quoth my husband, “fall’st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age, Wilt thou not, Jule?” It stinted and said, “Ay.”
And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Marry, that ‘marry’ is the very theme
It is an [honor] that I dream not of.
younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers.
I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid.
he’s a man of wax.
Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.
you love
shall behold him
Read o’er the volume of young ...
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writ there with beau...
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linea...
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one another lends...
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obscur’d in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. Thi...
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To beautify him, only lac...
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No less! nay, bigger: women grow by men.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make [it] fly.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
light through yonder window
Juliet is the sun.
envious...
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sick and pale wi...
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since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
She speaks, yet she says
Her eye discourses,
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
daylight doth a lamp;
birds would sing and think it were not night.
I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!
winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond’ring eyes Of mortals
wherefore art thou
’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm nor face, [nor any other part] Belonging to a man.
That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet;
Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,
the mask of night
at lovers’ perjuries They say Jove laughs.
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully; Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
mayest think my behavior light, But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true
