1 Go tell the Prince; run to the Capulets.
2 Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
3 Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done.
4 Stay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bid thee run away.
5 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.
6 Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad.
7 For this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
8 O the people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris, and all run With open outcry toward our monument.
9 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.
10 Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off, When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease.