By-and-by Is Easily Said.

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

I Am Your Wife If You Will Marry Me. If Not, I'll Die Your Maid. To Be Your Fellow You May Deny Me, But I'll Be Your Servant Whether You Will Or No.

Is There No Pity Sitting In The Clouds That Sees Into The Bottom Of My Grief? O Sweet My Mother, Cast Me Not Away! Delay This Marriage For A Month, A Week, Or If You Do Not, Make The Bridal Bed In That Dim Monument Where Tybalt Lies.

I Fill Up A Place, Which May Be Better... When I Have Made It Empty.

We Make Guilty Of Our Disasters The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars; As If We Were Villians By Compulsion.