What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?

So many horrid Ghosts.

In jest, there is truth.

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.

Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise; But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Yet hold I off.

Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!