1 Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers.
2 Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts And thou art wedded to calamity.
3 Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives.
4 I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
5 Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
6 But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee.
7 Each part depriv'd of supple government, Shall stiff and stark and cold appear like death.
8 Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
9 Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid.
10 While we were interchanging thrusts and blows Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
11 While we were interchanging thrusts and blows Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
12 Why I descend into this bed of death Is partly to behold my lady's face, But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment.
13 Within the infant rind of this weak flower Poison hath residence, and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
14 But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain; And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.
15 I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
16 The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; And she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice.
17 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate.
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