ROMEO:
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
[Juliet appears at the window.]
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, 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 intreat her eyes,
To 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 heaven
Would 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.
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek.
Oh speak again bright Angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes,
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
JULIET:
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.
ROMEO:
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET:
'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 owes,
Without that title, Romeo doff thy name,
And for thy name which is no part of thee,
ROMEO:
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd,
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
JULIET:
What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsel?
I 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.
JULIET:
My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
ROMEO:
Neither fair maid, if either thee dislike.
JULIET:
How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
ROMEO:
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
JULIET:
If they do see thee, they will murther thee.
ROMEO:
Alack there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords, look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
JULIET:
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROMEO:
I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes,
And but thou love me, let them find me here,
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued wanting of thy love.
JULIET:
By whose directions found'st thou out this place?
ROMEO:
By love that first did prompt me to inquire,
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes:
I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
I should adventure for such merchandise.
JULIET:
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night,
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, deny
What I have spoke, but farewell compliment.
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ay:
And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false: at lover's perjuries
They say Jove laughs; O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo, but else not for the world,
In truth fair Montague, I am too fond:
And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light,
But trust me gentleman, I'll prove more true,
Than those that have more cunning to be strange:
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st ere I was ware,
My true love passion, therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
ROMEO:
Lady, by yonder blessed Moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops.
JULIET:
O swear not by the Moon th' inconstant Moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
ROMEO:
What shall I swear by?
JULIET:
Do not swear at all:
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
ROMEO:
If my heart's dear love—
JULIET:
Well do not swear, although I joy in thee:
I have no joy of this contract to-night,
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden,
Too like the lightning which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say, it lightens. Sweet, good night:
This bud of love by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet:
Good night, good night, as sweet repose and rest,
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast.
ROMEO:
O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET:
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
ROMEO:
Th' exchange of thy Love's faithful vow for mine.
JULIET:
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.
ROMEO:
Wouldst thou withdraw it, for what purpose Love?
JULIET:
But to be frank and give it thee again,
And yet I wish but for the thing I have,
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep, the more I give to thee
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within, dear love adieu:
Anon good Nurse, sweet Montague, be true:
Stay but a little, I will come again.
ROMEO:
O blessed blessed night, I am afeard
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
JULIET:
Three words dear Romeo, and good night indeed:
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite,
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee my Lord throughout the world.
I come, anon: but if thou mean'st not well,
To ease thy strife, and leave me to my grief,
ROMEO:
So thrive my soul.
JULIET:
A thousand times good night.
ROMEO:
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.
JULIET:
Hist Romeo hist: O 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's name.
ROMEO:
It is my soul that calls upon my name.
How silver-sweet, sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears.
JULIET:
At what o'clock to-morrow
ROMEO:
By the hour of nine.
JULIET:
I will not fail, 'tis twenty years till then,
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
ROMEO:
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
JULIET:
I shall forget to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
ROMEO:
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
JULIET:
'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone,
And yet no farther than a wanton's bird
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silken thread, plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
ROMEO:
I would I were thy bird.
JULIET:
Sweet so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing:
ROMEO:
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night, till it be morrow.
JULIET:
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.
ROMEO:
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.