Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.

O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.

Love asks me no questions, and gives me endless support.

What? do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon her eyes

Benvolio- "By my head, here come the Capulets." Mercutio- "By my heel, I care not.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us.

If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!