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- "Indeed, I never shall be satisfiedWith Romeo till I behold him—dead—Is my poor heart, so for a kinsman vexed.Madam, if you could find out but a manTo bear a poison, I would temper it,That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhorsTo hear him named and cannot come to him,To wreak the love I bore my cousinUpon his body that hath slaughtered him!"
- "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."
- "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."
- "Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongueWhich she hath praised him with above compareSo many thousand times? Go, counselor,Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain."
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