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None, my lord.
If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it.
Know you any, Hero?
O, what men dare do! What men may do! What men daily do, not knowing what they do!
I dare make his answer none.
Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
What do you mean, my lord?
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it be more gracious.
Hath no man's dagger a point for me?
O fate, take not away thy hevy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her shame that may be wished for.
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