Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? Wilt though wash him from his grave with tears? Thou couldst not make him live; some grief shows much of love; But much grief shows still some want of wit. Though weep'st not so much for his death, as that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
What villain, madam?
Villain and he be many miles asunder. - God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; and yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
That same villain, Romeo.
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, where that same banish'd runagate doth lives; that he shall soon keep Tybalt company: and then, thou wilt be satisfied.
Indeed, I never shall be satisfied with Romeo, till I behold him - dead - is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man to bear a poison, I would temper it; that Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, soon sleep in quiet. O' how my hear abhors to hear him named. and cannot come to him.
Well, though hast a careful father, child' one who. to put thee from thy heaviness, hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, that though expect'st not nor I look'd not for.
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste that I must wed he, that should be my husband. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, it shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate rather than Paris.
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; but for the sunset of my brother's son it rains downright. How now! A conduit, girl? What, still in tears? Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; for still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, do flow with tears. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave!
How, now, chop-logic! What is this? "proud," and "I thank you," and "I thank you not"; and yet "not proud," mistress minion, you, thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds. I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage! You tallow-face!
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: proud can I never be of what I hate; but thankful even for hate, that is meant to love.