| A | B |
|---|
| But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? /It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. / | Romeo |
| What's in a name? that which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet | Juliet |
| I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; / Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be /Ere one can say 'It lightens | Juliet |
| O, she knew well /Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. | Friar Lawrence |
| In one respect I'll thy assistant be; / For this alliance may so happy prove, / To turn your households' rancour to pure love. | Friar Lawrence |
| Love's heralds should be thoughts, /Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams . . . | Juliet |
| These violent delights have violent ends /And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: | Friar Lawrence |
| Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, / Brags of his substance, not of ornament: / They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess / I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. | Juliet |
| Alas, poor Romeo, He is already dead: stabbed with a white wench's black eye... | Mercutio |
| . . . I anger her / sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer / man | Nurse |
| . . . And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, /Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. | Friar Lawrence |
| . . . Young men's love then lies / Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. | Friar Lawrence |
| But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true / Than those that have more cunning to be strange. | Juliet |
| I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: / The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, / And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. | Benvolio |
| Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee / Doth much excuse the appertaining rage / To such a greeting: villain am I none;/ Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. | Romeo |
| Villain am I none;/ Therefore farewell | Romeo |
| O sweet Juliet, / Thy beauty hath made me effeminate / And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! | Romeo |
| I am fortune’s fool. | Romeo |
| And for that offence / Immediately we do exile him hence: / I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, / My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding | Prince |
| Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, / Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner / As Phaethon would whip you to the west, / And bring in cloudy night immediately. | Juliet |
| Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; / For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night / Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. | Juliet |
| Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, | Juliet |
| O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! / Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? / Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! / Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! / Despised substance of divinest show! | Juliet |
| But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? / That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: | Juliet |
| For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; / Why should you fall into so deep an O? | Friar Lawrence |
| Hold thy desperate hand: / Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: / Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote / The unreasonable fury of a beast: / Unseemly woman in a seeming man! | Friar Lawrence |
| . . . Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, / Is set afire by thine own ignorance, / And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! | Friar Lawrence |
| It was the nightingale, and not the lark, / That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; / Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale | Juliet |
| Indeed, I never shall be satisfied / With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- / Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. | Juliet |
| I think it best you married with the county. / O, he's a lovely gentleman! /Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, | Nurse |
| Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! / Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, / Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue / Which she hath praised him with above compare / So many thousand times? | Juliet |
| I am hurt! A plague a both houses! I am sped. | Mercutio |
| No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but tis enough, 'twill serve. | Mercutio |
| Ask for me tomorrow and you will find me a grave man! | Mercutio |
