Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. Do with their death bury their parents’ strife. Play it again near me here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. Or manage it to part these men with me. Give me my long sword, ho! And flourishes his blade in spite of me. And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? Till the prince came, who parted either part. Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me. With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. I’ll know his grievance, or be much denied. Was that my father that went hence so fast?

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love. O any thing, of nothing first create! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. A choking gall and a preserving sweet. An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.