Come, come with me, and we will make short work;For, by your leaves, you shall not stay aloneTill holy church incorporate two in one.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joyBe heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone
*blushes*
This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
I know not, sir.
What lady is that, which dothenrich the handOf yonder knight?
But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your liveryMarry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love theeDoth much excuse the appertaining rageTo such a greeting: villain am I none;Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.
Romeo, the hate I bear thee can affordNo better term than this,—thou art a villain.
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
A torch for me. Let wantons light of heart. Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
What lady is that which doth enrich the handOf yonder knight?