1 O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
2 Now do you know the reason of this haste.
3 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
4 Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
5 Hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already.
6 Let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.
7 This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
8 My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.
9 I wonder at this haste, that I must wed Ere he that should be husband comes to woo.
10 Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.
11 For thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my whole five.
12 Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes.
13 Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.
14 Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.
15 Sure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing, solely singular.
16 Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expects not, nor I look'd not for.
17 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
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