I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain

The Moon Of Rome, Chaste As The Icicle That's Curded By The Frost From Purest Snow.

The Leopard Does Not Change His Spots.

Grief Best Is Pleased With Grief's Society.

But She Makes Hungry Where She Most Satisfies.

O Romeo, Romeo, Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? Deny Thy Father Refuse Thy Name, Thou Art Thyself Thou Not A Montegue, What Is Montegue? Tis Nor Hand Nor Foot Nor Any Other Part Belonging To A Man What Is In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, So Romeo Would Were He Not Romeo Called Retain Such Dear Perfection To Which He Owes Without That Title, Romeo, Doth Thy Name! And For That Name Which Is No Part Of Thee, Take All Thyself.