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Ha, banishment! Be merciful, say “death,” For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death. Do not say “banishment.”
Hence from Verona art thou banishèd. Be patient, for the world is broad and wide
Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
I do defy thy commination And apprehend thee for a felon here.
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. Thou art not conquered. Beauty’s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
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