Balcony
Storyboard Text
- But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,Who is already sick and pale with grief,That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. Be not her maid since she is envious.Her vestal livery is but sick and green,And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.Oh, that she knew she were!She speaks, yet she says nothing. What ofthat?Her eye discourses. I will answer it.-I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,Having some business, do entreat her eyesTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.What if her eyes were there, they in her head?The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars As daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heavenWould through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.Oh, that I were a glove upon that handThat I might touch that cheek!
- By and by, I come.-To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.Tomorrow will I send.
- So thrive my soul
- A thousand times the worse to want thy light.Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
- A thousand times good night!
- Exit JULIET, above
- Hist! Romeo, hist!-Oh, for a falconer's voice,To lure this tassel-gentle back again!Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud,Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,With repetition of "My Romeo!"
- It is my soul that calls upon my name.How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,Like softest music to attending ears!
- Reenter JULIET, above
- 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone.And yet no further than a wanton's bird,That lets it hop a little from his handLike a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,And with a silken thread plucks it back again,So loving-jealous of his liberty
- I would I were thy bird.
- Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.Hence will I to my ghostly friar's close cell,His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
- Sweet, so would I.Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
- Exit JULIET, above
- Exit
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