A man, young lady! Lady, such a man As all the world—why he’s a man of wax.
LADY CAPULET.
Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.
NURSE.
Nay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.
LADY CAPULET. What say you, can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face, And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur’d in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide. That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,