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 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 eyes 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.
Jul. Ah me !
Rom. She speaks: O, 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 wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Jul. 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.
Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ?
Jul. '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, Take all myself.
Rom. I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel ?
Rom. By a name 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.
Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ?
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease.
Jul. 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.
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch 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.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here.
Rom. 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 theix' hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place ?
Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet weft thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. 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 may'st prove thlse: at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo! If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st 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 may'st 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 over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, My true love's passion: therefore, pardon me; And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,' That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,--
Jul. O! swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by ?
Jul. Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my heart's dear love--
Jul. 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 !
Rom. O ! wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?
Jul. What satisfaction eanst thou have to-night ?
Rom. Th' exchange of thy Iove's Faithful vow for mine.
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; And yet I would it were to give again.
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love ?
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again;
And yet I wish but for the thing I have.
