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If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
O, where is Romeo?
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
She [Juliet] hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
Tell me, daughter Juliet, how stands your disposition to be married?
It is an honour I dream not of.
You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, and soar them above a common bound.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
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