Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this, For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
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.
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Wretched boy, you hung out with him here, and you’re going to go to heaven with him.
This fight will decide who dies.
Give me the vial. Give it to me! Don’t talk to me about fear.
Now go along on your way. Be strong and successful in this decision. I’ll send a friar quickly to Mantua with my letter for Romeo.
The statue I will make of Romeo to lie beside his Juliet will be just as rich. They were poor sacrifices of our rivalry!
But I can give you more. I’ll raise her statue in pure gold. As long as this city is called Verona, there will be no figure praised more than that of true and faithful Juliet.