ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

Every fair from fair sometime declines

The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.

Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

And blind oblivion swallowed cities up.