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Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold take this letter and deliver it to my lord and father.
I will be gone sir and not trouble you.
Thou detestable maw, though womb of death, Gorged with the nearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And in despite I'll cram thee with more food!
This is that banished haughty Montague, That murdered my love's cousin, with which grief It is supposed the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villainous shame To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head
In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face – Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. Come, go, good Juliet,
O comfortable friar, Where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo?
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