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Nurse:
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It did, it did; alas the day, it did!
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JULIET:
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O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
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Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
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Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
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Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
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Despised substance of divinest show!
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Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
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A damned saint, an honourable villain!
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O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,
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When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
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In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?
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Was ever book containing such vile matter
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So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell
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In such a gorgeous palace!
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Nurse:
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There's no trust,
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No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
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All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
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Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae:
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These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
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Shame come to Romeo!
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JULIET:
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Blister'd be thy tongue
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For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
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Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;
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For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
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Sole monarch of the universal earth.
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O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
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Nurse:
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Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?
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JULIET:
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Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
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Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
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When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
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But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
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That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
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Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
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Your tributary drops belong to woe,
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Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
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My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
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And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:
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All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
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Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
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That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
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But, O, it presses to my memory,
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Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
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'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;'
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That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
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Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
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Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
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Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
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And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
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Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
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Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
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Which modern lamentations might have moved?
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But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
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'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,
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Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
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All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
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There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
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In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
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Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
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Nurse:
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Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:
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Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
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JULIET:
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Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,
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When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
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Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,
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Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:
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He made you for a highway to my bed;
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But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
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Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;
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And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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Nurse:
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Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
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To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
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Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
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I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
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JULIET:
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O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,
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And bid him come to take his last farewell.
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FRIAR LAURENCE:
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Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:
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Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
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And thou art wedded to calamity.
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ROMEO:
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