So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.

So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, divisions none.

Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.

Leave us to our free election.

I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

With these shreds They vented their complainings, which being answered And a petition granted them, a strange one, To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, Shouting their emulation.

The one I love is the son of the one I hate! -Juliet p. 75