Isn’t that what he said? Or was I dreaming? Or am I crazy and, hearing him say something about Juliet, I jumped to the wrong conclusion? Oh, give me your hand. I think he told me Paris was supposed to marry Juliet. What did my servant tell me while we were riding here? I was so upset I wasn’t paying attention to him. It’s Mercutio’s relative, noble Count Paris. Here’s to my love! O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark. Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide. And, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death. Oh, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber maids. Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorrèd monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night Depart again. Beauty’s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death’s pale flag is not advancèd there.- Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favor can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin. How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry, which their keepers call A lightning before death! Oh, how may I Call this a lightning?-O my love, my wife! Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interred. A lantern, slaughtered youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Said he not so? Or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? -O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book. What said my man, when my betossèd soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet. In faith, I will.-Let me peruse this face.
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