path: root/vendor/mikespub/php-epub-meta/test/data/markup.2.xml

<div>
    <div>
        <h3>SCENE I. Verona. A public place.</h3>
        <div>

            <p>Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed
                with swords and bucklers
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No, for then we should be colliers.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I strike quickly, being moved.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
                <br />
                therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will
                <br />
                take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes
                <br />
                to the wall.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
                <br />
                are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push
                <br />
                Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
                <br />
                to the wall.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
                <br />
                have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
                <br />
                maids, and cut off their heads.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>The heads of the maids?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
                <br />
                take it in what sense thou wilt.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>They must take it in sense that feel it.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and
                <br />
                'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
                <br />
                hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes
                <br />
                two of the house of the Montagues.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>How! turn thy back and run?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Fear me not.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No, marry; I fear thee!
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
                <br />
                they list.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;
                <br />
                which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR</p>


            <p>
                <strong>ABRAHAM</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I do bite my thumb, sir.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ABRAHAM</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say
                <br />
                ay?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
                <br />
                bite my thumb, sir.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Do you quarrel, sir?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ABRAHAM</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Quarrel sir! no, sir.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as
                you.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ABRAHAM</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No better.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Well, sir.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>GREGORY</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Yes, better, sir.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ABRAHAM</strong>
            </p>

            <p>You lie.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>SAMPSON</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing
                blow.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>They fight</p>
            <p>Enter BENVOLIO</p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Part, fools!
                <br />
                Put up your swords; you know not what you do.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Beats down their swords</p>
            <p>Enter TYBALT</p>


            <p>
                <strong>TYBALT</strong>
            </p>

            <p>What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
                <br />
                Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
                <br />
                Or manage it to part these men with me.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>TYBALT</strong>
            </p>

            <p>What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
                <br />
                As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
                <br />
                Have at thee, coward!
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>They fight</p>
            <p>Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter
                Citizens, with clubs
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>First Citizen</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
                <br />
                Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET</p>


            <p>
                <strong>CAPULET</strong>
            </p>

            <p>What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>LADY CAPULET</strong>
            </p>

            <p>A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>CAPULET</strong>
            </p>

            <p>My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
                <br />
                And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE</p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Thou villain Capulet,—Hold me not, let me go.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>LADY MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Enter PRINCE, with Attendants</p>


            <p>
                <strong>PRINCE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
                <br />
                Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—
                <br />
                Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
                <br />
                That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
                <br />
                With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
                <br />
                On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
                <br />
                Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
                <br />
                And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
                <br />
                Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
                <br />
                By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
                <br />
                Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
                <br />
                And made Verona's ancient citizens
                <br />
                Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
                <br />
                To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
                <br />
                Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
                <br />
                If ever you disturb our streets again,
                <br />
                Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
                <br />
                For this time, all the rest depart away:
                <br />
                You Capulet; shall go along with me:
                <br />
                And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
                <br />
                To know our further pleasure in this case,
                <br />
                To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
                <br />
                Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and
                BENVOLIO
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
                <br />
                Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Here were the servants of your adversary,
                <br />
                And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
                <br />
                I drew to part them: in the instant came
                <br />
                The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
                <br />
                Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
                <br />
                He swung about his head and cut the winds,
                <br />
                Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:
                <br />
                While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
                <br />
                Came more and more and fought on part and part,
                <br />
                Till the prince came, who parted either part.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>LADY MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
                <br />
                Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
                <br />
                Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
                <br />
                A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
                <br />
                Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
                <br />
                That westward rooteth from the city's side,
                <br />
                So early walking did I see your son:
                <br />
                Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
                <br />
                And stole into the covert of the wood:
                <br />
                I, measuring his affections by my own,
                <br />
                That most are busied when they're most alone,
                <br />
                Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
                <br />
                And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Many a morning hath he there been seen,
                <br />
                With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.
                <br />
                Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
                <br />
                But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
                <br />
                Should in the furthest east begin to draw
                <br />
                The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
                <br />
                Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
                <br />
                And private in his chamber pens himself,
                <br />
                Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
                <br />
                And makes himself an artificial night:
                <br />
                Black and portentous must this humour prove,
                <br />
                Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I neither know it nor can learn of him.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Have you importuned him by any means?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Both by myself and many other friends:
                <br />
                But he, his own affections' counsellor,
                <br />
                Is to himself—I will not say how true—
                <br />
                But to himself so secret and so close,
                <br />
                So far from sounding and discovery,
                <br />
                As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
                <br />
                Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
                <br />
                Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
                <br />
                Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
                <br />
                We would as willingly give cure as know.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Enter ROMEO</p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
                <br />
                I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>MONTAGUE</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
                <br />
                To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE</p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Good-morrow, cousin.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Is the day so young?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>But new struck nine.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Ay me! sad hours seem long.
                <br />
                Was that my father that went hence so fast?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>In love?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Out—
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Of love?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Out of her favour, where I am in love.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
                <br />
                Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
                <br />
                Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
                <br />
                Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
                <br />
                Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
                <br />
                Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
                <br />
                Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
                <br />
                O any thing, of nothing first create!
                <br />
                O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
                <br />
                Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
                <br />
                Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
                <br />
                sick health!
                <br />
                Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
                <br />
                This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
                <br />
                Dost thou not laugh?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>No, coz, I rather weep.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Good heart, at what?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>At thy good heart's oppression.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Why, such is love's transgression.
                <br />
                Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
                <br />
                Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
                <br />
                With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
                <br />
                Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
                <br />
                Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
                <br />
                Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
                <br />
                Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
                <br />
                What is it else? a madness most discreet,
                <br />
                A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
                <br />
                Farewell, my coz.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Soft! I will go along;
                <br />
                An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
                <br />
                This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>What, shall I groan and tell thee?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Groan! why, no.
                <br />
                But sadly tell me who.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:
                <br />
                Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!
                <br />
                In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
                <br />
                With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
                <br />
                And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
                <br />
                From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
                <br />
                She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
                <br />
                Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
                <br />
                Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
                <br />
                O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
                <br />
                That when she dies with beauty dies her store.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,
                <br />
                For beauty starved with her severity
                <br />
                Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
                <br />
                She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
                <br />
                To merit bliss by making me despair:
                <br />
                She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
                <br />
                Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>O, teach me how I should forget to think.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
                <br />
                Examine other beauties.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>ROMEO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>'Tis the way
                <br />
                To call hers exquisite, in question more:
                <br />
                These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
                <br />
                Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
                <br />
                He that is strucken blind cannot forget
                <br />
                The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
                <br />
                Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
                <br />
                What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
                <br />
                Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
                <br />
                Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
                <br />
            </p>


            <p>
                <strong>BENVOLIO</strong>
            </p>

            <p>I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
                <br />
            </p>
            <p>Exeunt</p>


        </div>
    </div>
</div>