Let Us Kill All Lawyers

In Truth, Fair Montague, I Am Too Fond.

How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It Is To Have A Thankless Child!

For Sorrow Ends Not, When It Seemeth Done.

Wooing, Wedding, And Repenting Is As A Scotch Jig, A Measure, And A Cinque-pace: The First Suit Is Hot And Hasty Like A Scotch Jig--and Full As Fantastical; The Wedding, Mannerly Modest, As A Measure, Full Of State And Ancientry; And Then Comes Repentance And With His Bad Legs Falls Into The Cinque-pace Faster And Faster, Till He Sink Into His Grave.

I Am Not Prone To Weeping As Our Sex Commonly Are; The Want Of Which Vain Dew Perchance Shall Dry Your Pities; But I Have That Honorable Grief Lodged Here Which Burns Worse Than Tears Drown.