Two households, both alike in dignity. In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes. A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life. Whose mis-adventured piteous overthrows. Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey. Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
You kiss by the book.