I can give the loser leave to chide.

No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.

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.

Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.