1 I warrant thee my man's as true as steel.
2 That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
3 Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
4 In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
5 I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift.
6 O find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.
7 O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.
8 But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
9 They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
10 We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry.
11 Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold, Think true love acted simple modesty.
12 Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit, Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
13 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange.'
14 For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
15 Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent, And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death.
16 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both.
17 Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, Give me some present counsel, or behold 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the empire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring.'
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