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| O Romeo, I hopeth thy won't regret this. Violent delights have violent ends. | |
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| No Friar. I loveth her! Will thou marry us please? | |
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| Boy, This shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. | |
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| I do protest I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise. Till thou shalt know the reason of my love And so, good Capulet, which name I tender as dearly as my own , be satisfied. | |
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| Ah, weraday! He's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! He's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! | |
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| Can heaven be so envious? | |
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