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thy-shakespeare

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LADY CAPULET: Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse: Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
LADY CAPULET: What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written i...
Nurse: No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.
LADY CAPULET: Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
JULIET: 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.
Servant: Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
LADY CAPULET: We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse: Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
ROMEO: What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology?
BENVOLIO: The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measu...
ROMEO: Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
MERCUTIO: Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
ROMEO: Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
MERCUTIO: You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.
ROMEO: I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
MERCUTIO: And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.
ROMEO: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
MERCUTIO: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
BENVOLIO: Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.
ROMEO: A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
MERCUTIO: Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
ROMEO: Nay, that's not so.
MERCUTIO: I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
ROMEO: And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go.
MERCUTIO: Why, may one ask?
ROMEO: I dream'd a dream to-night.
MERCUTIO: And so did I.
ROMEO: Well, what was yours?
MERCUTIO: That dreamers often lie.
ROMEO: In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
MERCUTIO: O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of g...
ROMEO: Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing.
MERCUTIO: True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping sou...
BENVOLIO: This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
ROMEO: I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lust...
BENVOLIO: Strike, drum.
First Servant: Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!
Second Servant: When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
First Servant: Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan!
Second Servant: Ay, boy, ready.
First Servant: You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber.
Second Servant: We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.
CAPULET: Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could te...
Second Capulet: By'r lady, thirty years.
CAPULET: What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.
Second Capulet: 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.
CAPULET: Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago.
ROMEO:
Servant: I know not, sir.
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, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touc...
TYBALT: This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.
CAPULET: Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?
TYBALT: Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night.
CAPULET: Young Romeo is it?
TYBALT: 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
CAPULET: Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which i...
TYBALT: It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him.
CAPULET: He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
TYBALT: Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
CAPULET: Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!
TYBALT: Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.
ROMEO:
JULIET: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
ROMEO: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
JULIET: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
ROMEO: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
JULIET: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
ROMEO: Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
JULIET: Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
ROMEO: Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
JULIET: You kiss by the book.
Nurse: Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
ROMEO: What is her mother?
Nurse: Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks.
ROMEO: Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
BENVOLIO: Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
ROMEO: Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
CAPULET: Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest.
JULIET: Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
Nurse: The son and heir of old Tiberio.
JULIET: What's he that now is going out of door?
Nurse: Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.
JULIET: What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
Nurse: I know not.
JULIET: Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
Nurse: His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.
JULIET: 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.
Nurse: What's this? what's this?
JULIET: A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal.
Nurse: Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
Chorus: Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she ste...
ROMEO: Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
BENVOLIO: Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
MERCUTIO: He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.
BENVOLIO: He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.
MERCUTIO: Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot s...
BENVOLIO: And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
MERCUTIO: This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise up him.
BENVOLIO: Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark.