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DioLiu
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Test3

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That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse:
A man, young lady! lady, such a man
As all the world--why, he's a man of wax.
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 in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
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 measure, and be gone.
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: