1 Without his roe, like a dried herring.
2 And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
3 If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
4 For this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
5 These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume.
6 I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
7 Hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which, on more view of many, mine, being one, May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
8 Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, A bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
9 A pack of blessings light upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But like a misshaped and sullen wench, Thou putt'st up thy Fortune and thy love.
10 Within this hour my man shall be with thee, And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, Which to the high topgallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night.
11 Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit, Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
12 Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight; It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say It lightens.
13 But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain; And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.
14 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
15 Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
16 The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's wheels Hence will I to my ghostly Sire's cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
17 The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
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