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Ah me!

       Romeo.

       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 wondering 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.

       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.

       [Aside.] 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 that name, which is no part of thee,

       Take all myself.

       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?

       Romeo.

       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.

       Juliet.

       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?

       Romeo.

       Neither, fair saint, 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’erperch these walls;

       For stony limits cannot hold love out:

       And what love can do, that dares love attempt;

       Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

       Juliet.

       If they do see thee, they will murder 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 sight;

       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 direction found’st thou out this place?

       Romeo.

       By love, that first did prompt me to enquire;

       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 furthest sea,

       I would adventure for such merchandise.

       Juliet.

       Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;

       Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

       For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.

       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 lovers’ 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 swear,

       That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—

       Juliet.

       O, swear not by the moon, the 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,

       And I’ll believe thee.

       Romeo.

       If my heart’s dear love,—

       Juliet.

       Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,

       I have no joy of this contract tonight;

       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.

      

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