Romeo and Juliet Act I, Scene 1

Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!

She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

Alas that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Montague, heads of two houses at variance with each other.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine.

Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight And makes himself an artificial night.

Why, such is love's transgression.

An Apothecary.

Black and portentous must this humour prove Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

So please you step aside, I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.

Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, naught could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

I will show myself a tyrant.

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

In the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight And makes himself an artificial night.

She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.

In the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.

'Tis the way To call hers (exquisite) in question more.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

I- measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self- Pursu'd my humour, not Pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.