A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words
What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye