Until I truly loved,

Until I truly loved, I was alone.
In the end, the love you make is equal to the love you take
With love’s light wings
Did I o’erperch these walls,
For stony limits
Cannot hold love out
What’s Montague?
It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face,
Nor any other part
Belonging to a man.
O is some other name!
What’s in a name?
That which we call a rose
by any other word would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would,
Were he not Romeo called
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title.
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends
If love be rough with you,
Be rough with love.
Prick love for pricking
And you beat love down.
For the sweet love remembered such wealth brings,

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