
2:27 PM romeomontague221: What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
With nimble soles, while I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
And soar with them above a common bound.
To soar with light feathers, and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.
We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.
But 'tis no wit to go.
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Montague, Romeo
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