Romeo: (Seeing Juliet on the balcony) O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear,
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
( Juliet moves to go inside)
Romeo: Stay but a little, gentle Juliet!
Juliet: Who is that?
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
A thousand times.
Juliet: What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night,
Doth stumble on my counsel?
Romeo: 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
A thousand times.
Juliet: What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night,
Doth stumble on my counsel?
Romeo: By yonder blessed moon, I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops.
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
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name
Belonging to a man.
Romeo: I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
(They kiss)
Juliet: Romeo doff they name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Romeo: I'll call thee mine.
Juliet: What shall I call thee?
Romeo: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Juliet: Thy name is not a part of thee,
So let me be thy love, and let me die.
Romeo: (Aside) I am fortune's fool.
Juliet: What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
Romeo: Juliet, I am thy love, and nothing else,
And so i take thee as thou art.
Juliet: 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.
Romeo: Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.
Juliet: 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!
Romeo: 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.
Juliet: Ay me!
Romeo: She speaks.
O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art
As glorious to this night, being over my head
As is a wingéd messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturnéd 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.
Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
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
Belonging to a man.
Romeo: I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
(They kiss again)