Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a wagoner
As Phaëton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew
(O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones!)
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
I am hurt.
A plague o’ both houses! I am sped.
Is he gone and hath nothing?
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
And too soon marred are those so early made.
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan’d for and would die,
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrineMetaphor,
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings,Metaphor & Hyperbaton
The sun, for sorrow,
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.
Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!Check This
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.Simili
Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!Anaphora
O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face!Paradox
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
They are but beggars that can count their worth,
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume.
Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime by action dignified.
The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;Paradox & Personification
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find:Metaphor & Personification
Many for many virtues excellent,
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,Alliteration
Like softest music to attending ears!
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,Simili
My love as deep;Ellipsis the more I give to thee,
Lady, by yonder blessèd moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—
O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not,
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
My only love sprung from my only hate!Paradox
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear—Simili
Beauty too rich for use,
Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,Analogy
One pain is less’ned by another’s anguish;
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell’d April on the heel
Of limping winter treads,
He that is strooken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Well in that hit you miss.
Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing,
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
But he, his own affections’ counsellorParenthesis,
Is to himself (I will not say how true)Parenthesis
But to himself so secret and so close,
Black and portendous must this humor prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
I strike quickly, being mov’d.
But art not quickly mov’d to strike.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudgeParenthesis break to new mutiny,