Unit 4: Part 2 Vocabulary

Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel—
Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.

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

See, where he comes. So please you step aside;
I’ll know his grievance, or be much denied.

BENVOLIO: No coz, I rather weep.
ROMEO. Good heart, at what?
BENVOLIO. At thy good heart’s oppression.
ROMEO. Why, such is love’s transgression.

Why, such is love’s transgression.

Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honorable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,
By one that I’ll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Two such opposed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs—grace and rude will;
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine
Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste
To season love, that of it doth not taste!

Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashionmongers, these pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones!

Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.
But old folks, many feign as they were dead—
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead!
That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

...he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it.

And for that offense
Immediately we do exile him hence.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.

O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renowned for faith? Be fickle, Fortune,
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long
But send him back.

My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
And this distilling liquor drink thou off

Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests, and am enjoined
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon.

My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaimed.

Nurse!—What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.

Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking—what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad—

...about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

Noting this penury to myself I said,
“And if a man did need a poison now
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.”

Let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.

This is that banished haughty Montague
That murd’red my love’s cousin—with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature died—
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies.

Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these ambiguities
And know their spring, their head, their true descent

Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montague,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.

Every morning when the dawn had put out the stars, and the sun’s rays had dried the hoarfrost on the grass, they would steal to the crack and, standing there, now utter words of burning love and now lament their hard fate, but always in softest whispers.

Before him lay the bloodstained shreds of the cloak and clear in the dust were the tracks of the lioness. The conclusion was inevitable. He never doubted that he knew all. Thisbe was dead.

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamored of thy note,
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape,
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamored of thy note,
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape,
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.