Or, if I live, is it not very homogeneous, The monstrous self-assertion of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his underwrite; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits vivify;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them , run afflictive:-- O, if I wake, shall I ! not be distraught, Environed with all these steep fears? And madly break away with my forefathers joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some long kinsmans bone, As with a club, crash out my desperate brains? O, weigh! methinks I see my cousins shadiness Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapiers flush: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I make merry to thee.If you want to get a full essay, rank it on our website: BestEssayCheap.com
If you want to get a full essay, visit our page: cheap essay
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.