1 An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
2 But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
3 I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift.
4 Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.
5 Nurse, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
6 This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
7 Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
8 O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
9 To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
10 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest With more of thine.
11 Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
12 At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st; With all the admired beauties of Verona.
13 Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest Up to the ears.
14 Therefore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
15 I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
16 Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
17 O speak again bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.
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