Retire Me To My Milan, Where Every

Haste Is Needful In A Desperate Case.

Wherefore Was I To This Keen Mockery Born? When At Your Hands Did I Deserve This Scorn? Is't Not Enough, Is't Not Enough, Young Man, That I Did Never, No, Nor Never Can, Deserve A Sweet Look From Demetrius' Eye, But You Must Flout My Insufficiency?

Fight Valiantly To-day; And Yet I Do Thee Wrong To Mind Thee Of It, For Thou Art Framed Of The Firm Truth Of Valor.

The Morning Steals Upon The Night, Melting The Darkness.

A Glooming Peace This Morning With It Brings; The Sun, For Sorrow, Will Not Show His Head: Go Hence, To Have More Talk Of These Sad Things; Some Shall Be Pardon'd, And Some Punished: For Never Was A Story Of More Woe Than This Of Juliet And Her Romeo.