Romeo and Juliet

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.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; whose misadventured piteous overthrows do with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love, and the continuance of their parents’ rage, which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage.

The which, if you with patient ears attend, what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

Benvolio: Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do.

Tybalt: What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward!

Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

Romeo: If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

Romeo: But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.