LADY CAPULET: Evermore weeping for yourcousin’s death?What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;But much of grief shows still some want of wit.JULIET: Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.LADY CAPULET: So shall you feel the loss,but not the friendWhich you weep for.JULIET: Feeling so the loss,Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.LADY CAPULET: Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much forhis death,As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heavenWould through the airy region stream so brightThat birds would sing, and think it were not night.See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.O that I were a glove upon that hand,That I might touch that cheek.
Por un extraño azar la próvida Fortuna,que ahora me acompaña, ha traídohasta aquí a mis enemigos, y por prescienciaveo que mi cenit depende de un astrosumamente favorable y que, si noaprovecho su influencia, mi suertedecaerá. Cesen ya tus preguntas.Te duermes. Es benigna soñolencia.Abandónate: no puedes evitarla. (Próspero)
GONZALO: I' the commonwealth I would by contrariesExecute all things; for no kind of trafficWould I admit; no name of magistrate;Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,And use of service, none; contract, succession,Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;No occupation; all men idle, all;And women too, but innocent and pure;And no sovereignty; -SEBASTIAN: Yet he would be king on't.ANTONIO: The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold thy desperate hand:Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denoteThe unreasonable fury of a beast:Unseemly woman in a seeming man!Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,I thought thy disposition better temper’d.Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,By doing damned hate upon thyself?Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meetIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;Which, like a usurer, abound’st in all,And usest none in that true use indeedWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,Digressing from the valour of a man;Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,Misshapen in the conduct of them both,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! thy Juliet is alive,For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,But thou slew’st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friendAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy:A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;Happiness courts thee in her best array;But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,Thou pout’st upon thy fortune and thy love:Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:But look thou stay not till the watch be set,For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;Where thou shalt live, till we can find a timeTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee backWith twenty hundred thousand times more joyThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;And bid her hasten all the house to bed,Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:Romeo is coming.