E jefts at fears, that never felt a wound--But, foft! what light thro' yonder win dow breaks?
It is the Eaft, and Juliet is the Sun!
[Juliet appears above, at a window,
Arife, fair Sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already fick and pale with grief,
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than fhe.
* Be not her maid, fince fhe is envious
Her vestal livery is but fick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; caft it off-
3 It is my Lady; O! it is my Love;
O that she knew fhe were!-
She speaks, yet fhe fays nothing; what of that?
Her eye difcourfes; I will anfwer it-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me fhe speaks:
Two of the fairest stars of ail the heav'n,
Having fome bufinefs, 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 fhame thofe ftars,
As day-light doth a lamp; her eyes in heav'n
Would through the airy region ftream fo bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not night:
He jefts at fears,] That is, Mercutio jefts, whom he overheard.
↑ Be not ber maid,] Be not a
votary to the moon, to Diana.
3 It is my lady;-] This line
and half I have replaced.
See, how the leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. Ah me!
Oh, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this Sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged meffenger from heav'n,
Unto the white-upturned, wondring, eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him;
When he beftrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And fails upon the bofom of the air.
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo-wherefore art thou Ro
Deny thy father, and refufe thy name :
Or, if thou wilt not, be but fworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom. Shall I hear more, or fhall I fpeak 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.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would fmell as fweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Ketain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title; Romeo, quit 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, befcreen'd in night,
So ftumbleft 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 uttering, yet I know the found. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rem. Neither, fair Saint, if either thee diflike. Jul. How cam'ft thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard-walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, confidering who thou art,
If any of my kinfmen find thee here.
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these
walls,
For ftony limits cannot hold love out;
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinfimen are no ftop to me.
Jul. If they do fee thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their fwords; look thou but fweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
ful. I would not for the world, they faw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their
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.
Jul. By whofe direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By love, that firft did prompt me to enquire; He lent me counfel, 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 would adventure for fuch merchandise.
Jul. Thou know'ft, the mask of night is on my face,
Elfe would a maiden-blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou haft heard me speak to night.
Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain, deny
What I have spoke-but farewel compliment!
Doft thou love me? I know, thou wilt fay, ay;
And I will take thy word- -yet if thou fwear'st,
Thou may'st prove falfe; at lovers' perjuries,
They fay, Jove laughs. Oh, gentle Romeo,
If thou doft love, pronounce it faithfully;
Or if you think, I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverfe, and fay thee nay,
So thou wilt wooe; but elfe, 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 coying to be ftrange.
I fhould have been more ftrange, I must confefs,
But that thou over-heardft, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's Paflion; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder bleffed moon I vow,
That tips with filver all these fruit-tree tops-
7-coying to be frange.] For coying, the modern editions have
Jul. O fwear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb;
Left that thy love prove likewife variable.
Rom. What fhall I fwear by?
Jul. Do not fwear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, fwear by thy gracious felf,
Which is the God of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my true heart's love
Jul. Well, do not fwear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night;
It is too rafh, too unadvis'd, too fudden,
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can fay, it lightens. Sweet, good night.
This bud of love by fummer's ripening breath
May prove a beauteous flower, when next we meet.
Good night, good night-as fweet Repofe and Reft
Come to thy heart, as that within my breaft!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me fo unfatisfied?
Jul. What fatisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would, it were to give again.
Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what pur
pofe, love?
Jul. 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 fea,
My love as deep, the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear fome noife within. Dear love, adieu!
[Nurfe calls within Anon, good nurfe. Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.
Rom. O bleffed, bleffed night! I am afraid,
Being in night, all this is but a dream;
Too flattering-fweet to be fubftantial.
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