My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.
William ShakespeareRead
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My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. - Romeo -
Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
My only love sprung from my only hate.
The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
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