William Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet

4. Scene IV. A Street. (continued)

This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail!--On, lusty gentlemen!

Strike, drum.


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