Sweets With Sweets War Not, Joy Delights

I Wonder That You Will Still Be Talking. Nobody Marks You.

Romeo There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murders In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell. I Sell Thee Poison; Thou Hast Sold Me None. Farewell: Buy Food, And Get Thyself In Flesh. Come, Cordial And Not Poison, Go With Me To Juliet's Grave; For There Must I Use Thee.

Have You Not Love Enough To Bear With Me, When That Rash Humor Which My Mother Gave Me Makes Me Forgetful.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

I Am One, Sir, That Comes To Tell You Your Daughter And The Moor Are Now Making The Beast With Two Backs.(iago,acti,scenei)