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- 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 griefThat thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
- 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 thosestarsAs
- As daylight doth a lamp; her eye 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.
- O, speak again, bright angel, for thou artAs glorious to this night, being o’er my head,As is a wingèd messenger of heavenUnto the white-upturnèd wond’ring eyesOf mortals that fall back to gaze on himWhen he bestrides the lazy puffing cloudsAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.
- Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
- 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.’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. O, be some other nameBelonging to a man.What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
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