Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
I am falser than vows made in wine.
Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.