And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? [Aside. 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 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. 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 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, 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 cam'st thou hither, tell me? and where fóre? The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out: 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: 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. As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, no let-] i. e. no stop or hinderance. 7 And, but thou love me,] And so thou do but love me. Or it may mean, unless thou love me. So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world. 8 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, Jul. Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, And I'll believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear loveJul. Well, do not swear; although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, cunning to be strange.] To be strange, is to put on af fected coldness, to appear shy. 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. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. Nurse calls within. [Exit. Rom. O blessed blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And follow thee my lord throughout the world: Jul. I come, anon:-But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee, Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. By and by, I come: To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: Rom. So thrive my soul,— Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter JULIET, above. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again !9 Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; And make her airy tongue inore hoarse than mine Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest musick to attending ears! Rom. Jul. I will not fail; At what o'clock to-morrow At the hour of nine. 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company. Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone: • To lure this tassel-gentle back again!] The tassel or tiercel (for so it should be spelt) is the male of the gosshawk; so called, because it is a tierce or third less than the female. This is equally true of all birds of prey. |