So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours with sorrow chide us not.
Oh, I am fortune’s fool!
“Romeo is banishèd.” There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word’s death.
Hang thee, young baggage! Disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face.
Good Father, I beseech you on my knees-
I’ll not be forsworn.
Take thou this vial, being then in bed,drink thou off. Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep and that very night shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.