Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.
.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; To cure this deadly grief. Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead, In deadly hate the one against the other: In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?-- The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Freedom from commuting. And I, in such a desperate bay of death, O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!