Rome Jules
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- O, speak again, bright angel! for thou artAs glorious to this night, being o'er my headAs is a winged messenger of heavenUnto the white-upturned wondering eyesOf mortals that fall back to gaze on himWhen he bestrides the lazy-pacing cloudsAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.
- Ay me!
- Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
- O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?Deny thy father and refuse thy name;Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
- I take thee at thy word:Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
- 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owesWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.
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