"Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare, Act I

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets.

Wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:

For this time, all the rest depart away.

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike.

Of honourable reckoning are you both

But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;

At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light

But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it

It had upon it's brow... a parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;

Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.

What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona (where we lay our scene),
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Montague: I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Benvolio: Have you importuned him by any means?

Romeo: Why, such is love's transgression:
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed
With more of thine; this love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Romeo: She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty starved her with her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

O heavy lightness, serious vanity,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!