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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.
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.
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.
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
'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.
I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night, so stumblest on my counsel?
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.
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?
Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls. For stony limits cannot hold love out.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight.