Romeo and Juliet

be his heir;
That fair for which love groan’d for and would die,
With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
But to his foe supposed he must complain,
And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit.

Scene I

A lane by the wall of Capulet’s orchard.

	Enter Romeo.
Romeo	Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.
	Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Benvolio	Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mercutio	He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol’n him home to bed.
Benvolio	He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.
Mercutio	Nay, I’ll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but “Ay me!” pronounce but “love” and “dove;” Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
Benvolio	And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mercutio	This cannot anger him: ’twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistress’ name I conjure only but to raise up him.
Benvolio	Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
Mercutio	If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I’ll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?
Benvolio	Go, then; for ’tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt.

Scene II

Capulet’s orchard.

	Enter Romeo.
Romeo	He jests at scars that never felt a wound. Juliet appears above at a 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 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!
Juliet	Ay 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 baptized; 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 not yet 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 camest 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 let to me.
Juliet	If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Romeo	Alack, there