"I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, or manage it to part these men with me"
"What, drawn and talk of peace? I hate the word. As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee. Have at thee, coward!"
"And we mean well in going to this mark, but 'tis no wit to go"
"The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
"Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence's cell. There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks. They'll be in scarlet straight at any news."
"Rome, away be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed. The Prince will doom thee death if though art take. Hence, be gone away!"
"Take though this vial, being then in bed, and this distilled liquor drink thou off, when presently through all thy veins shall run a cold and drowsy humor for no pulse shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify though livest. The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade to paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall like death when he shuts up the day of life."