Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy, as arranged for the stage by H. Irving and presented at the Lyceum theatre on March 8th, 1882

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77. oldal - O, my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks. And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
44. oldal - These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. And in the taste confounds the appetite : Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
59. oldal - Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; ' Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
34. oldal - Do not swear at all ! Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee ! Rom.
31. oldal - 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.
37. oldal - For nought 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: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified.
71. oldal - If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, 'My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
11. oldal - 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-cross'd lovers take their life ; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do. with their death, bury their parents
31. oldal - 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 wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
31. oldal - But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

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