of this weak flower Poison hath residence, and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that word Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. Romeo is belov’d, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to be his paramour? For fear of that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the commission of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy life I charge