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- Уильям Шекспир
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- Ромео и Джульетта
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Begot
of
nothing
but
vain
fantasy
,
Which
is
as
thin
of
substance
as
the
air
And
more
inconstant
than
the
wind
,
who
wooes
Even
now
the
frozen
bosom
of
the
north
,
And
,
being
anger
'd
,
puffs
away
from
thence
,
Turning
his
face
to
the
dew-dropping
south
.
Benvolio
:
This
wind
,
you
talk
of
,
blows
us
from
ourselves
;
Supper
Supper
is
is
done
done
,
,
and
and
we
we
shall
shall
come
come
too
too
late
late
.
.
Romeo
:
I
fear
,
too
early
:
for
my
mind
misgives
Some
Some
consequence
consequence
yet
yet
hanging
hanging
in
in
the
the
stars
stars
