His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.

Say, thou art mine; and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere

Good things should be praised.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

My love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was

Men in rage strike those that wish them best.

Gently to hear, kindly to judge.