O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel hangs in an Ethiop's ear-
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done,
I'll watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight.
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.


Tybalt: What, art thou drawn to these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death

Benvolio: I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tybalt: What, drawn & talk of peace? I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, & thee:
Have at thee, coward.

The first one we were made to learn off by heart & the second I remember cos our teacher decided the best way for us to learn it was to perform the play. I was Tybalt. I got to have lots of swordfights! (We had way more girls in our class than parts for them to play)