Benvolio: Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
  Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!  
Romeo: 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 any thing, of nothing first created!
  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?  
Benvolio: No, coz, I rather weep.                        
Romeo: Good heart, at what?  
Benvolio: At thy good heart's oppression.  
Romeo: 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 rais'd 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.  
Benvolio: Soft! I will go along;
  An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.  
Romeo: Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;
  This is not Romeo, he's some other where.  
Benvolio: Tell me in sadness who is that you love.  
Romeo: What, shall I groan and tell thee?  
Benvolio: Groan! why, no,
  But sadly tell me who.  
Romeo: Bid a sick man in sadness make his will;
  Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!                        
  In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.  

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