He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.

This is the short and the long of it.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! Oh, that she knew she were!

I feel it gone, yet know not when it left.

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.

Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!