"how now, who calls?"
"madam. i am here, what is your will?
"art thou gone so?
love, lord, ay husband, friend, i must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days. o, by this count i shall be much in years ere i again behold my romeo…"
"o think'st thou we shall ever meet again…? methinks i see thee, now thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. either my eyesight fails, or thou lookest pale."
"…where is my lord?
"what here? a cup clos'd in my true love's hand? poison, i see, hath been his timeless end."
"…o happy dagger