1 Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
2 The pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners of accent.
3 Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, And Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd.
4 So tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them.
5 Come, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.
6 Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
7 Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
8 Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new beloved anywhere.