ROMEO: Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

ROMEO: If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET: 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.

ROMEO: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

ROMEO: Well, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, Lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

ROMEO: Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

JULIET: Then have my lips the sin that they have took?

ROMEO: Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged, Give me my sin again.

JULIET: You kiss by the book.

NURSE: Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Come lets away.

ROMEO: Is she a Capulet?

NURSE: His name is Romeo, and he's a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.

MERCUTIO: Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO: Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

JULIET: My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late. Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.

TYBALT: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall now seeming sweet, convert to bitterous gall.

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