Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

Now boast thee, death, in thy possession liesA lass unparalleled.

O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

A surfeit of the sweetest things the deepest loathing of the stomach brings

Out of this nettle - danger - we pluck this flower - safety.