[A street in Mantua. Enter Romeo] Romeo 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 unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. Read more about Act 5, Scene 1: Popup Note Index Item: "My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne"
Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Peter Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "iron wit"
Peter I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then will I give you the serving-creature. Peter Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets; I'll re you, I'll fa you. Do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "carry no crochets"
Peter O musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump, we. 'Tis no time to play now. Peter You will not then? First Musician No. Peter I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? Peter No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the minstrel. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "I will then give it you soundly."
Friar Laurence Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corpse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church. For though some nature bids us all lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "rosemary on this fair corpse"
Capulet Despised, distressèd, hated, martyred, killed! Uncomfortable Time, why cam'st thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! My soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! My child is dead; And with my child my joys are burièd. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "my soul"
Lady Capulet Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labor of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catched it from my sight! Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "In lasting labor"
Friar Laurence Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion, For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced; And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill That you run mad seeing that she is well. Read more about Act 4, Scene 5: Popup Note Index Item: "ill" and "well"
