shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true Than those that have their toes Unplagu’d with corns will have to love thee better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s, and for a pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. The fearful passage of their swords. Look thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET. Saints do not use to swear; And she steal love’s sweet bait