| A | B |
|---|
| But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? /It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. / | Metaphor |
| What's in a name? that which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet | Metaphor |
| 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 | Simile |
| O, she knew well /Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. | Metaphor |
| In one respect I'll thy assistant be; / For this alliance may so happy prove, / To turn your households' rancour to pure love. | Foreshadowing |
| Love's heralds should be thoughts, /Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams . . . | Metaphor |
| 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: | Metaphor |
| 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. | Metaphor |
| Alas, poor Romeo, He is already dead: stabbed with a white wench's black eye... | Metaphor |
| Ask for me tomorrow and you will find me a grave man! | Pun |
