I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

The world must be peopled!

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

We see which way the stream of time doth run.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

See where she comes apparelled like the spring.