Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. O woe! Thy canopy is dust and stones.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, and in despite I'll cram thee with more food!
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!
Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
Oh, I am slain! If thou be merciful, open the tomb. Lay me with Juliet.
In faith, I will.
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark. Here's to my love! O true apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
Romeo! O, pale!-Who else? What, Paris too? And steeped in blood?-Ah, what an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs.
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.- O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? O happy dagger, This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.
