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 eye 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.

Rom.

Ah me!

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.

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,*

* Owns.

[Aside.

Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name :
And for that 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 baptized;

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 not yet 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 dislike.

Jul. 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.

Rom. 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.

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

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.

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire: 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.

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 mayst prove false; 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 mayst think my haviourt 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'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, the 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 unadvised, 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 canst thou have to-night?
Rom. The exchange of thy love'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. Wouldst 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:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

[Nurse calls within.

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu
Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

* Free.

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream:
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

LOVE'S HERALDS.

Love's heralds should be thoughts,

Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love.
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

RELUCTANCE OF LOVERS TO PART.

SCENE. Juliet's Chamber.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east :
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops:
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

TIMON TO THE THIEVES.

Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;