Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.
What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.