Now No Way Can I Stray; Save

Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

I Will Do Anything, Nerissa, Ere I'll Be Married To A Sponge.

My Salad Days, When I Was Green In Judgment.

That You Were Once Unkind Befriends Me Now, And For That Sorrow, Which I Then Did Feel, Needs Must I Under My Transgression Bow, Unless My Nerves Were Brass Or Hammered Steel.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief? O Sweet My Mother, Cast Me Not Away! Delay This Marriage For A Month, A Week, Or If You Do Not, Make The Bridal Bed In That Dim Monument Where Tybalt Lies.