Sampson talks big and flinches often — his wordplay is designed to sound threatening while leaving him a legal exit. Watch for how he always needs Gregory to validate his bravado.
Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.
Gregory, I swear, we won't put up with any disrespect.
Gregory, look, I'm not taking anything from these Montagues.
not taking disrespect from montagues letting them know it
The smarter half of the Capulet servant pair: he deflates Sampson's bluster while also escalating toward the fight. His jokes are sharper than his sword.
No, for then we should be colliers.
No, because then we'd be coal sellers—surrendering completely.
No, dude, we'd just be pathetic. That's a total loss.
nah that makes us weak skip it
I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.
What I mean is, if we get angry, we'll draw our swords.
What I'm saying is, if they mess with us, we're ready to fight.
if they start it we're pulling blades full stop
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.
Right—while you live, keep your neck out of trouble by running.
Yeah, but if you want to live, you're better off running.
live longer by running that's the move
I strike quickly, being moved.
I react quickly when I'm provoked.
I'm fast when I get angry.
i react fast when someone pisses me off
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
But you don't react quickly to a fight—you hesitate.
Except you never do. You always back down.
except you always hesitate which makes you weak
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
A Montague servant provokes me, and I will hold my ground.
If a Montague comes at me, I'm standing. Not running.
montague shows up i'm standing not budging
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou
art moved, thou runn’st away.
To move is to stir; to be valiant is to stand. So if provoked, you stir—you run.
Moving means reacting, being brave means standing still. So you're literally running.
moving = reacting braving = standing so you're running lol
A dog of that house shall move me to stand.
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.
A Montague shall provoke me to stand. I'll claim the right of way from any Montague, man or woman.
When a Montague comes near, I stand my ground. I'm taking the whole street—man, woman, whoever.
montague comes near i'm not moving i own the street
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.
That shows you're weak. The weakest always get pushed to the wall.
That just proves you're pathetic. Only weak people get shoved to the wall.
that's weakness only losers get shoved sounds like you
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to
the wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and
thrust his maids to the wall.
That's true, and so women, being the weaker ones, are always pushed to the wall. So I will push Montague's men away from the wall and shove his maids up against it.
Exactly—women are the weaker sex, so they always get pushed to the wall. I'll drive Montague's guys away from the wall and force his maids up against it.
women r weaker so they go to the wall i'll push montague's men away and shove his maids there
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
This fight is really between the two families and their leadership, not us servants.
This fight is really between our bosses, not us regular guys.
fight's about the bosses no us in this
’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the
men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
All the same, I'll act like a tyrant: when I've fought the men, I'll have their heads.
Whatever, I'll be a tyrant anyway. When I fight the men, I'll go after the women.
bosses can fight i'm going after the women instead
The heads of the maids?
You're literally talking about cutting off their heads?
Wait, their literal heads?
their HEADS??
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense
thou wilt.
Yes, the heads of the maids, or their virginity—take it however you want.
Yeah, the maids' heads, or their virginity, however you want to interpret it.
yeah the maids their heads or virginity take your pick
They must take it in sense that feel it.
They must understand it the way that affects them.
They'll figure out what you mean soon enough.
they'll get it
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a
pretty piece of flesh.
They will feel me while I am able to stand, and it's known I am a good-looking man.
They'll feel what I've got to offer while I'm standing. And yeah, I'm pretty handsome.
im good looking im standing my ground
’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.
Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.
It's fortunate you're not a fish; if you were, you'd be called 'poor John.' Draw your weapon; here come some from the Montague house.
Lucky you're not a fish or you'd be nothing special. Draw your sword—here come some Montagues.
get ur weapon montagues coming
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
My unsheathed weapon is ready: quarrel, I will support you.
I've got my sword out and ready to back you up in a fight.
im with u sword ready
How? Turn thy back and run?
What? Turn your back and run?
What, you're gonna run away?
ur running??
When Romeo delivers his string of oxymorons — 'brawling love, loving hate, feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire' — he is speaking a highly specific emotional dialect. Petrarch, the 14th-century Italian poet, invented the sonnet form and with it a whole vocabulary for unrequited love: the beloved is a goddess, the lover is a slave, love is simultaneously a torture and an ecstasy. Petrarch's sonnets about Laura were translated across Europe and became the standard way educated young men talked about being in love. Romeo is doing what you do when you're young and romantic and educated in the right poetry: performing the approved emotional response. The question Shakespeare is asking — and will answer in about 100 lines — is whether Romeo actually feels this or just knows the words. His encounter with Juliet answers it: with her, he stops reaching for borrowed poetry and starts inventing his own.
Fear me not.
Don't be afraid of me.
Don't worry about me.
don't worry
No, marry; I fear thee!
No, certainly; I'm afraid of you!
No, I'm terrified of you!
im scared of u lol
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
Let us make sure the law is on our side; let them start the fight.
Let's make sure we're legally in the clear, then we can let them throw the first punch.
law's on our side let them start
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them interpret it however they want.
I'll just give them a dirty look as I walk by and see if they take offense.
give dirty look let them react
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to
them if they bear it.
No, I'll do it if I dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is an insult to them if they accept it.
No, I'll go for it if I can. I'll give them the thumb bite—an insult if they're willing to take it.
im doing it bite thumb = insult if they take it
Abram is the straight man to Sampson's provocation — cautious enough to know a legal technicality matters, honest enough not to deny what's happening.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Are you biting your thumb at us, sir?
Did you just bite your thumb at us?
r u insulting us??
I do bite my thumb, sir.
I am biting my thumb, sir.
I'm biting my thumb, yes.
im biting my thumb
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Are you biting your thumb at us, sir?
So you're insulting us deliberately?
is that at US??
Is the law of our side if I say ay?
Would the law be on our side if I say yes?
But would that be illegal for me?
is that legal
No.
No.
no.
no.
No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
No sir, I am not biting my thumb at you, sir; but I am biting my thumb, sir.
No sir, I'm not biting my thumb at you specifically; I'm just biting my thumb in general.
not at u just... biting
Do you quarrel, sir?
Do you want to quarrel, sir?
Are we about to fight?
u want to fight
Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
Fight with you? Absolutely not, I'm saying no to that.
A fight? No way.
nah no fight
But if you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
But if you do want to quarrel, sir, I am ready. I work for as good a man as you.
But if you do want to fight, I'm game. I serve a man just as good as yours.
but if u start im ready my boss = ur boss
No better.
No better.
no better.
no better.
Well, sir.
Well, sir.
well, sir.
well, sir.
Say better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.
Say something better; here comes one of my master's relatives.
Step it up—here comes someone from my master's family.
step up ur game family coming
Yes, better, sir.
Yes, better, sir.
yes, better, sir.
yes, better, sir.
You lie.
You lie.
you lie.
you lie.
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
Draw your weapon, if you are men. Gregory, remember your washing blow.
Come on, if you're really men. Gregory, remember that move we practiced.
be men draw weapons
One of the most famous things about Romeo and Juliet is that we never learn why the Montagues and Capulets hate each other. Shakespeare never tells us. The Prince says it began from 'an airy word' — something trivial, nothing real. By the time we arrive in the play, both families have forgotten the cause; all they remember is the ritual of mutual hatred. This is Shakespeare's point. The feud isn't about anything; it's about itself — a self-perpetuating mechanism of honor and resentment that kills the people caught inside it. Romeo and Juliet are destroyed not by evil, but by meaninglessness dressed up as tradition. Keep watching for how many times characters in the play try to assign reason to the feud — and find none.
Benvolio's defining register is rational concern — he wants to solve problems, prevent fights, and talk Romeo out of his moods. Watch for how he consistently offers practical advice that nobody follows.
Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.
Stop, fools! Put away your swords, you don't know what you're doing.
Hey, knock it off! Put down your swords—you guys don't even know why you're fighting.
stop stop fighting u dont even know why
Tybalt speaks in absolutes: hatred, honor, death. He has no gear between 'composed' and 'murderous.' Watch for how he frames everything as a matter of personal and family honor that demands violent resolution.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.
What, are you fighting among these cowardly servants? Turn to face me, Benvolio, look at your death coming.
What, you're fighting all these wimpy guys? Face me, Benvolio, and get ready to die.
turn & fight me benvolio look at death
I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
I am only trying to keep the peace, put away your sword, or use it to help me separate these men.
I'm just trying to keep things calm here. Put your sword away or help me break this up.
im keeping peace put sword down or help me stop this
What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.
What, your sword drawn, and you talk of peace? I hate that word like I hate hell and all Montagues, and you. Have at you, coward.
Are you seriously talking about peace while holding a sword? I hate that word like I hate hell and every Montague—including you. Come on, coward.
sword out + talking peace? i hate peace i hate u fight me
Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
Staves, pikes and spears! Strike! Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
Get clubs, pikes, everything! Fight! Knock them down! Kill the Capulets! Kill the Montagues!
CLUBS! PIKES! STRIKE! down w capulets down w montagues
Capulet oscillates between bluster and reason, and his authority is constantly tested by those around him — his wife, Tybalt, eventually his own daughter. Watch for the gap between what he commands and what happens.
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
What's all this commotion going on? Someone get me my sword immediately!
What's all this commotion? Get me my sword!
whats that noise give me sword
Lady Capulet is dry, practical, and unimpressed. Her one line in this scene — 'A crutch, a crutch!' — says everything about her marriage. Watch for how she delivers maximum impact in minimal words.
A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
A crutch, a crutch! Why are you calling for a sword?
You need a crutch, not a sword! Why are you even asking for a weapon?
get a crutch not a sword lmao
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
My sword, I said! Old Montague is here, and he's waving his blade to threaten me.
I want my sword! That old Montague is here and showing off with his blade against me.
SWORD montague here waving his blade at me
Montague is a mirror image of Capulet — same pride, same age, same inability to stay out of a fight he's been ordered to avoid. His tenderness toward Romeo, though, is real.
Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.
You villain Capulet! Let go of me, I'm going to fight.
You're a villain, Capulet! Let me go, I'm getting in this fight.
u villain let me go im fighting
Lady Montague has two concerns in this entire play: keeping her husband out of fights and knowing where her son is. Both concerns are well-founded.
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
You will not take even one step to find an enemy.
You're not moving one inch to look for a fight.
ur not fighting stay put
The Prince (Escalus) speaks in formal, authority-laden verse — every line is a proclamation. He represents the law that the feud keeps breaking. Watch for how his three appearances each mark an escalation of consequences.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—
Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona’s ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me,
And Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, profaners of this neighbor-stained steel—will you not listen? What, hey! You men, you beasts, that put out the fire of your harmful rage with purple fountains flowing from your veins. On pain of torture, throw your badly-tempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your prince who is moved. Three street fights, started from an empty word, caused by you, old Capulet, and Montague, have three times disturbed the quiet of our streets and made Verona's old citizens take off their proper fancy clothes to wield old spears in their old hands, damaged by peace, to end your damaged hatred. If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives will pay the price for peace. For now, all the rest leave. You, Capulet, come with me. And Montague, come this afternoon to learn what we want in this case at our common courthouse. Again, on pain of death, everyone leave.
You're breaking the law, you're enemies of peace, you're ruining decent weapons by using them like this—will you listen? Hey! You're not men, you're animals, putting out the fire of your pointless anger with blood pouring out of you. I'm warning you, under threat of being tortured, throw down your badly-made weapons and listen to what your prince is going to say. Three times you've started street fights over nothing, Capulet and Montague. Three times you've broken the peace of our city and made decent old people pick up old weapons they haven't used in years because of the peace here, just to end your pointless family feud. If you start this again, I'll execute you for breaking the peace. Everyone else, get out. Capulet, you're coming with me. Montague, come by this afternoon to hear what's going to happen. And everyone else, leave right now or face death.
stop the violence stop ruining weapons this is ur fault capulet & montague 3x u broke peace listen or die everyone out capulet w me montague after or death
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Who started this old quarrel again? Speak, nephew, were you here when it began?
Who brought back this old fight? Tell me, nephew, were you here when it started?
who started it were u here
Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them, in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,
Which, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
Here your enemies' servants and yours were already closely fighting before I arrived. I drew to part them, when in that moment came the fiery Tybalt, with his sword ready, which as he breathed anger at my ears, he swung around his head and cut the air, which nothing hurt with it, hissed at him in scorn. While we were exchanging thrusts and blows, more and more came and fought on each side, until the Prince came and split both sides apart.
Your rivals' men and your guys were already in a heavy fight when I got there. I pulled out my sword to break them up, and then Tybalt shows up, furious, with his sword drawn. He's swinging it around his head like crazy, cutting through nothing but air, and the wind itself basically laughs at him. While we're going at it with thrusts and blocks, more and more people keep jumping in on both sides, until the Prince finally got there and split everyone up.
they were fighting when i got there tybalt showed up mad swinging crazy more ppl joined prince stopped it
Rosaline is one of Shakespeare's most interesting non-characters: she appears nowhere in the play, never speaks, never acts, and yet she shapes everything. She's a Capulet (we'll learn she's on the guest list for the party), she's sworn to chastity, and she's currently in possession of Romeo's entire emotional life. Scholars have argued about her for centuries. Some see her as proof that Romeo's love is shallow — he forgets her the moment he sees Juliet. Others argue she represents exactly the kind of unreachable courtly ideal that Elizabethan love poetry celebrated, and that Romeo's switch to Juliet is the play's way of saying real love isn't like a sonnet. Either way: Romeo spends the entire first scene devoted to a woman who never appears, and the rest of the play devoted to one he met twelve minutes ago. That's worth sitting with.
O where is Romeo, saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Oh, where is Romeo, did you see him today? I'm very glad he wasn't at this fight.
Where's Romeo? Did you see him today? I'm really grateful he wasn't mixed up in this mess.
where's romeo glad he wasnt there
Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun
Peer’d forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.
Lady, an hour before the worshipped sun looked out from the golden window of the east, a troubled mind made me go walk outside, where underneath the sycamore grove that grows west from this city side, while walking so early I saw your son. Toward him I went, but he saw me and stole into the woods to hide. I, measuring what he felt by what I felt, which then most looked for where it could be least found, being too alone with my own sadness, chased after my own mood, not his, and gladly avoided someone who gladly avoided me.
Ma'am, early in the morning, before the sun even came up, I was going for a walk because I had something on my mind. Under these sycamore trees on the west side of the city, I saw Romeo. I tried to go talk to him, but he saw me coming and hid in the woods. I know what he's feeling because I feel the same way—when you're sad and want to be alone, the last person you want to see is someone else who's sad and alone too. So I just let him be, and he let me be.
saw romeo early he saw me hid in woods i get it tho same sadness we both wanted alone
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Many mornings he has been seen there, with tears adding to the fresh morning dew, adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs. But as soon as the all-brightening sun should begin to pull back the dark curtains from morning's bed, away from light steals home my heavy son, and private in his room locks himself in, shuts up his windows, locks the fair daylight out and makes himself an artificial night. This mood must prove to be something dark and bad, unless good advice can remove the cause.
He's been seen out there a lot, crying and making the morning even wetter with his tears, and sighing so hard he's actually making more clouds. But the second the sun starts to come up and brighten things, he sneaks back home and locks himself in his room. He shuts all the windows, blocks out all the sunlight, and basically makes his own night inside. Something serious is wrong with him, and I don't know how to fix it unless someone can get him to talk about what's bothering him.
hes there every morning crying sighing making it darker when sun comes up he runs home locks himself in makes artificial night this is BAD
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Uncle, have you figured out what's behind all this sadness?
Uncle, do you know what's wrong with him?
u know whats wrong
I neither know it nor can learn of him.
I don't know it and I can't find out from him.
I have no idea, and he won't tell me.
idk he wont talk
Have you importun’d him by any means?
Have you pressured him to talk in any way?
Have you tried asking him about it?
u tried asking
Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections’ counsellor,
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Both by myself and by many other friends, but he is his own feelings' adviser, is to himself—I won't say how true—but to himself so secret and so closed, so far from being sounded out and discovered, like a bud bitten by a jealous worm before he can spread his sweet leaves to the air or dedicate his beauty to the sun. If we could only learn where his sorrows come from, we would be as willing to give a cure as to know.
I've tried, and so have a lot of his other friends, but he's basically the only one he listens to. He keeps his feelings completely locked up, hidden so deep that nobody can figure out what's going on. It's like a flower bud that's been eaten up by a worm before it can even open—he won't let his emotions show. If we just knew what was making him so sad, we'd help him fix it in a heartbeat.
we asked his friends asked he wont listen to anyone keeps it all inside like a worm ate the bud if we knew why we'd help
See, where he comes. So please you step aside;
I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.
Look, there he comes. If you don't mind, step aside; I'll find out his problem or be refused many times.
There he is. Step back if you can, and I'll try to get him to open up. If he won't, I'll keep trying.
hes here step back ill get him to talk
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,
I wish you were lucky enough through your time here to hear an honest confession. Come, lady, let's go.
I hope you can get him to really talk. Come on, let's leave.
hope u get thru to him lets go
Good morrow, cousin.
Hello, cousin.
Hey cousin.
yo cuz
Romeo speaks in extremes — oxymorons, paradoxes, borrowed Petrarchan conceits. His emotional register goes from 0 to 100 with no warning. Watch for how even his grief is performative, and then watch that change.
Is the day so young?
Is it still early in the day?
It's still early, isn't it?
early?
But new struck nine.
The clock just struck nine.
It's only nine o'clock.
just 9am
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Oh no, sad hours feel so long. Was that my father who just left in such a hurry?
Man, when you're sad, time just drags. Was that my father who just ran off?
sadness = slow time was that dad
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
It was. What sadness is making Romeo's hours feel so long?
Yeah, that was him. So what's got you so down that time's moving so slow?
yea that was him whats wrong w u
Not having that which, having, makes them short.
Not having something that, when you have it, makes time pass quickly.
I'm missing something that would make my time feel shorter.
missing something that makes time pass
In love?
In love?
in love?
in love?
Out.
Out.
out.
out.
Of love?
Of love?
of love?
of love?
Out of her favour where I am in love.
Out of her favor, even though I am in love with her.
I'm in love with her, but she doesn't feel the same way about me.
love her she dont love me
Alas that love so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
Oh no, that love seems so gentle when you look at it, but it should be so harsh and difficult when you experience it.
It's weird—love looks so nice and easy from the outside, but when you're actually going through it, it's brutal.
love looks soft but its actually brutal
The play doesn't open with Romeo, or with the families, or with the Prince. It opens with two servants with swords swaggering into each other's path. Shakespeare's choice to begin here is deliberate: the feud isn't an aristocratic abstraction. It's a violence that colonizes every level of society, right down to the lowest servants who fight and die for a cause their masters invented and forgot. Sampson and Gregory's crude jokes aren't just comic relief — they're the feud stripped of all its romance and nobility, revealing what it actually is: posturing, aggression, and the sexual humiliation of women used as a proxy for dominance. The feud's bottom half isn't pretty. And it sets the tone for everything the noble families do above it.
Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Alas that love, whose vision is covered still, should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? Oh me! What fight was here? Yet don't tell me, for I have heard it all. There's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, fighting love! loving hate! Anything made from nothing! Heavy lightness! serious frivolity! Misshapen chaos of well-appearing forms! Lead feathers, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Sleeping while awake, that is not what it is! This love I feel, that feel no love in this. Don't you laugh?
Love is messed up—it can see without eyes, know things without looking. Anyway, where should we eat? I heard about the fight already. There's a lot of hate going around, but even more love. So I've got fighting love and loving hate, everything and nothing mixed together. Beautiful chaos of decent-looking things. Heavy feathers, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health. Wide awake but asleep. I feel this love, but it gives me no love back. Doesn't that make you laugh?
love without eyes can still see where do we eat hate and love everywhere fighting love loving hate beautiful chaos feather of lead bright smoke cold fire sick health i feel love but feel no love back crazy right?
No coz, I rather weep.
No cousin, I'm crying instead.
Nah, I'm actually crying about it.
im crying not laughing
Good heart, at what?
Good heart, about what?
You're crying? About what?
crying about what
At thy good heart’s oppression.
About your good heart being crushed.
Because your heart's being crushed.
ur heart is crushed
Why such is love’s transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;
Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
That is what love does wrong. My sorrows weigh heavy in my chest, which you will make heavier when you add yours to it. This love that you've shown me makes my sadness worse. Love is smoke made from the sighs of lovers; when it clears, it is a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; when it's troubled, it becomes a sea fed by lovers' tears: What is it otherwise? A cleverness that seems crazy, a bitter thing, and also something that keeps you alive. Goodbye, my cousin.
That's what love does to you. I'm already carrying so much sadness, and when you feel bad for me, it just makes it worse. Your sympathy just adds to my pain. Love is smoke made from sighs—when that smoke clears away, there's a fire in your eyes. But when that fire gets put out, it becomes an ocean of tears. What else is it? It's a beautiful madness, something bitter and sweet at the same time. It kills you and keeps you alive. Goodbye, man.
love is smoke then fire then tears its madness bitter & sweet it kills u bye cuz
Soft! I will go along:
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Hold on! I will go along with you, and if you leave me like this, you're hurting me.
Wait, I'm coming with you. If you leave me behind like this, that's not cool.
wait im coming dont leave me
Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here.
This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
Look! I have lost myself; I'm not here. This is not Romeo, he's somewhere else.
Forget it. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm not even Romeo, not really. I'm someone else.
im not me im not romeo im someone else
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
Tell me seriously who it is that you love?
Seriously, tell me who you're in love with.
who do u love
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
What, should I cry out and tell you?
What, you want me to wail and confess?
u want me to cry & tell
Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.
Cry out! No, but tell me seriously who.
No, don't cry. Just tell me who it is, seriously.
dont cry just tell me
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,
A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Tell a sick man seriously to write his will, it's a bad way to treat someone who is so ill. Seriously, cousin, I am in love with a woman.
It's cruel to ask a sick man to write his will—that's how bad it is. But yeah, seriously, I'm in love with someone. She's a woman.
asking is like telling a sick guy to write his will im in love w a woman
I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.
I was so close when I guessed that you loved someone.
I was basically right when I figured you were in love.
i knew u were in love
A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.
A really good guesser, and the woman I love is beautiful.
Yeah, you guessed right. And she's really beautiful.
shes beautiful
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
A really beautiful target, fair cousin, is hit the fastest.
Well, beautiful women are usually pretty easy to get with.
pretty girls = easy target
Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit
With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;
And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,
From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms
Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O she’s rich in beauty, only poor
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Well, in that you're wrong: she won't be hit with Cupid's arrow, she has the wisdom of Diana and in strong proof of chastity well armed, from love's weak childish bow she lives uncharm'd. She will not endure the siege of loving words nor suffer the assault of appealing looks, nor open her lap to love-tempting gold: Oh she's rich in beauty, only poor in that when she dies, her beauty dies with her.
Nope, you're wrong there. She's not gonna fall for love's tricks. She's got the smarts and the strength—she's basically untouchable. Love's arrows bounce right off her. She won't listen to words of love, she won't respond to seductive looks, and she definitely won't be swayed by money. She's beautiful, yeah, but that beauty doesn't get passed on to anyone. When she dies, it all disappears.
shes not like that she's strong love arrows bounce off wont listen to words wont respond to looks money wont work shes beautiful but alone when she dies beauty dies
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
Then she has sworn that she will always live without love?
So she's made a vow to stay single forever?
shes staying single forever
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty starv’d with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
She has, and in that refusing makes a huge waste; for beauty starved by her strictness cuts off beauty from all future generations. She is too beautiful, too wise; wisely too beautiful, to deserve happiness by making me suffer. She has refused to love, and in that refusal I live as a dead man, someone who lives to tell about it now.
She has, and it's a total waste. Her refusal to love means no future generations get her beauty. She's too beautiful, too smart, way too smart for her own good. She's so perfect that she's actually ruining her own chance at happiness—and mine. She won't love anyone, and that basically makes me a dead man. I'm living while dead, just telling you about it.
shes wasting her beauty no future kids get it too smart 4 her own good she ruins happiness i'm dead inside living dead
Be rul’d by me, forget to think of her.
Listen to me, forget about thinking of her.
Just stop thinking about her, okay?
stop thinking of her
O teach me how I should forget to think.
Oh teach me how I should stop thinking about her.
Yeah, but how am I supposed to do that?
how tho
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
By letting your eyes be free; look at other beautiful women.
Open your eyes to other women. There are other beautiful people out there.
look at other girls theres plenty
’Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair?
Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.
That's the way to make me think of hers, more unique. These masks that happy women wear that kiss beautiful faces, being black, remind us they hide the fair; he who is struck blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Show me a woman who is extremely beautiful, what does her beauty do but remind me of her who is passing beautiful? Goodbye, you can't teach me to forget.
That just makes me think of her and how unique she is. These masks that women wear to dances kiss pretty faces, and because they're black, they remind you of what's hidden behind them. A blind guy can never forget what sight felt like. If you show me another beautiful woman, all her beauty does is remind me of who passed by her in beauty. You can't teach me to forget her.
makes me think of her more masks hide beauty blind guy remembers sight every girl reminds me of her u cant teach me to forget
I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
I will prove that teaching method, or else fail trying.
I'll show you that method works, or I'll die trying.
ill prove it works or die trying
The Reckoning
The play opens not with its stars but with their servants — two low-ranking men swaggering into a fight they barely understand, for a cause that has nothing to do with them. By the time the noble families rush in, then the Prince, then the worried parents searching for Romeo, the audience has felt the whole weight of Verona's feud in miniature. What lingers is the image of Romeo alone at dawn, walking away from the light — a young man already half in love with his own melancholy.
If this happened today…
Imagine two interns at rival tech firms — both working on competing apps — running into each other in a Starbucks. They start trading insults on behalf of their CEOs, which turns into shoving, which empties the whole cafe, which forces the mayor to come on live TV and announce that if either company's employees cause another public scene, both founders face charges. Meanwhile, one founder's parents are quietly texting each other: 'Have you seen our son? He didn't come home last night and he's been posting sad playlists again.'