I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, or manage it to part these men with me.
What! Art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, she is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; an she agree, within her scope of choice Leis my consent and fair according voice.
-Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss. -Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer-Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.
-If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.-Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?-O! then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. -Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take