I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

If music be the food of love, play on.

Thy friendship makes us fresh.

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.

There is flattery in friendship.

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.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.