Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Soft pity enters an iron gate.

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father refuse thy name, thou art thyself thou not a montegue, what is montegue? tis nor hand nor foot nor any other part belonging to a man What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Romeo would were he not Romeo called retain such dear perfection to which he owes without that title, Romeo, Doth thy name! And for that name which is no part of thee, take all thyself.

Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales; And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.