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Friar Laurence

                                  Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast.                                  
Unseemly woman in a seeming man,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both.

Nurse

O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,                  
And then down falls again.

Romeo

                                             As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name's cursèd hand
Murdered her kinsman. O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.

Nurse

O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,                  
And then down falls again.

Romeo

                                             As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name's cursèd hand
Murdered her kinsman. O tell me, friar, tell me,

Romeo

Nurse!

Nurse

              Ah sir! Ah sir! Death's the end of all.

Romeo

Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth she not think me an old murderer,
Now I have stained the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own?
Where is she, and how doth she, and what says
My concealed lady to our cancelled love?

Romeo

More honorable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Romeo. They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
But Romeo may not; he is banishèd.                             
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly.
They are free men, but I am banishèd.

Romeo

Father, what news? What is the prince's doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand
That I yet know not?

Friar Laurence

                                    Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company.
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

Romeo

What less than doomsday is the prince's doom?

Friar Laurence

A gentler judgment vanished from his lips:                  
Not body's death, but body's banishment.

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