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Content thee, genle coz. Let him alone. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Verona bags of him to be a virtuous and well-governmed youth
This, by his voice shuld be a Montague -- Fetch me my rapier, boy.
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.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. *kisses her*
You kiss by th'book.
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