1 Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.'
2 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.'
3 Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good night.'
4 And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go.'
5 Go then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found.'
6 Of honourable reckoning are you both, And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.'
7 Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.'
8 When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.'
9 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.'
10 Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth.'
11 Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.'
12 This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide.'