My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
my love as deep;
The more I give to thee the more I have,
for both are infinite.
Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace!
Yea, noise? then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.
O! I am Fortune’s fool.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!