1 O, then I see that mad men have no ears.
2 I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
3 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears.
4 My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of thy tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound.
5 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.
6 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.
7 Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest Up to the ears.
8 Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench's black eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.
9 Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it.
10 I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
11 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.