nay gentle Romeo, we must have you to dance.
Not I, believed me.You have dancing shoes with nimble soles, I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
You are a lover, borrow Cupid's wings, and soar with them above a common bound.
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft to soar with his light feathers, and so bound I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love: prick love for pricking and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in
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