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Will now deny to dance? She I'll swear hath corns?
What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand.
She doth teach the torches to burn bright.
I know not sir.
'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Then move mot while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged. (kisses her)
Go ask his name.- If he be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed.
His name is Romeo, and a Montague, the only son of your great enemy.
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