In delay there lies no plenty.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.
Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
Constant you are, But yet a woman; and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul.
Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?