Romeo and Juliet

by William Shakespeare

If love be rough with you, be rough with love;

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

This kid is trash lol

Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!

Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

These violent delights have violent ends

Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.

A plague o' both your houses!

Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden–widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding–bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Sex? Were they about to get busy? Lol

Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Foreshadowing

Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son–in–law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.

His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.