Romeo and Juliet
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- He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
- 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 greenAnd none but fools do wear it; cast it off.It is my lady, O, it is my love!O, that she knew she were!She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?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 eyes in heavenWould through the airy region stream so brightThat birds would sing and think it were not night.See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!O, that I were a glove upon that hand,That I might touch that cheek!
- Ay Me!
- She speaks: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.
- 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.
- Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
- '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 partBelonging to a man. O, be some other name!What's in a name? that which we call a roseBy 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 theeTake all myself.
- I take thee at thy word:Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
- By a nameI know not how to tell thee who I am:My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,Because it is an enemy to thee;Had I it written, I would tear the word.
- Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
- What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in nightSo stumblest on my counsel?
- My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordsOf that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
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