RedHoodIsAJoke

O my love, my wife, Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered. Beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks and death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt,liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O what favor can I do thee than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain to sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet, why are thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that I still will stay with thee and never from this place of dim night depart again. Here, here will I remain with worms that are thy cha