1 They are free men but I am banished.
2 We talk here in the public haunt of men.
3 O, then I see that mad men have no ears.
4 Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
5 There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men.
6 The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
7 O mischief thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.
8 I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
9 When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.'
10 But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.'
11 Put this in any liquid thing you will And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.
12 Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
13 There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
14 Chain me with roaring bears; Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls.
15 True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
16 Though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare.
17 At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house.
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