No Fear Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet

Prince “A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. some shall be pardoned, and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
Romeo “Her’s to my love! (drinks the poison) O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
Romeo Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Romeo Then I defy you, stars!
Capulet Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Juliet O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel house, O’ercovered quite with dead men’s rattling bones, with reeky shanks and yellow hapless skull; or bid me go into a new-made grave…
Capulet God’s bread! It makes me mad. Day, night, hour, tide, time, work,play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been to have her matched. And having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly trained, Stuffed, as they say, with honorable parts, Proportioned as on’e thought would wish a man—ANd then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mama, in her fortune’s tender, To answer” I’ll not wed,” “I cannot love,” “I am too young,” “I pray you, pardon me.”–But, an you will not wed, I’l pardon you. Graze where you will, you shallot house with me. Look to ‘t, think on ‘t, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near. Lay hand on heart, advise. An you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend. An you be not hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good. Trust to ‘t, bethink you. I’ll not be forsworn.
Juliet O God, I have an ill-divining soul. Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low As one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’t pale.
Romeo More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!
Juliet Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Friar Lawrence There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew’s Tybalt–there art thou happy.The law that threatened death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile–there art thou happy.
Romeo As if that name, shot from the deadly level of a gun, did murder her, as that name’s cursed hand murdered her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me, in what vile part of this anatomy doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack the hateful mansion. (draws his dagger)
Nurse There’s no trust, no faith, no honesty in men. All perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.–These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Prince And for that offense immediately we do exile him hence. I have an interest in your hearts’ proceeding. My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding. But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine that you shall all repent the loss of mine. I will be deaf to pleading and excuses. Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
Romeo Oh, I am fortune’s fool.
Mercutio No, ’tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.
Mercutio Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and , as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? Make hast, lest mine be about our ears ere it be out.
Friar Lawrence These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.
Friar Lawrence Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Friar Lawrence For this alliance may so happy prove to turn your households’ rancor to pure love.
Friar Lawrence The earth, that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb. What is her burying, grave that is her womb. And from her womb children of divers kind we sucking on her natural bosom find, many for many virtues excellent, none but fro some and yet all different. Oh, mickle is the powerful grace that lies in herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities, for naught so vile that on the earth doth live but to the earth some special good doth give, nor aught so good but, strained from that fair use revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse, virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometime by action dignified.
Juliet O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, lest that they love prove likewise variable.
Juliet ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O’ be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee take all myself.
Romeo But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off! It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that! Her eye discourses. I will answer it.–I am too bold. “Tis not to me she speaks. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her yes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think ti were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!
Tybalt Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe. A villain that is hither come in spite to scorn at our solemnity this night.
Romeo Oh, she doth teaches the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiopia’s ear, beauty too rick for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
Romeo For my mind misgives/ Some consequence yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin his fearful date with this night’s revels, and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast by some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen!
Mercutio O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with thee…She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomic over men’s noses as they lie asleep. Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs, the cover of the wings of grasshoppers, her traces of the smallest spider’s web, her collars of the moonshine’s watery beams, her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film, her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat, not half so big as a round little worm pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
Juliet I’ll look to like if looking liking move. But no more deep will I endure mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Nurse Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be 14. Susan and she–God rest all Christian souls! Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God. She was too good for me. but, as I said, On Lammas Eve at night shall she be 14.
Capulet The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she. She’s the hopeful lady of my earth. But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart. M will to her consent is but a part.
Romeo Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate but more with love. Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first created! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?
Tybalt What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee coward!