1 But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
2 I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
3 The Prince will doom thee death If thou art taken.
4 O mischief thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.
5 Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.
6 Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts And thou art wedded to calamity.
7 Come, Montague, for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down.
8 To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
9 And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
10 I'll give thee armour to keep off that word, Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
11 Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
12 O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.
13 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.
14 O speak again bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.