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+<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>
+