And bakes the elf-locks* in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now, the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Description of a Beauty.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

Capulet's Favourable Opinion of Romeo.
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him disparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show
a fair
presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Romeo and Juliet at the Ball.

ROMEO. If I profane with my unworthy hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,-

* i.e., Fairy locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night.

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this:

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

ROMEO. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET. Saints do not move, though grant

sake.

for prayers'

ROMEO. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.

JULIET. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again.

JULIET. You kiss by the book.

ACT II.

The Garden Scene.

ROMEO. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.— 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 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.

JULIET.

ROMEO.

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 up-turned 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.

JULIET. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou

Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:

Or, if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love,

And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

ROMEO. 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.

* Juliet estimates him for his own good qualities, regardless of her dislike for his family.

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, dofft 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 baptiz'd;

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'erperch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out :

* Possesses.

† Put aside.

And what love can do, that dares love attempt,
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

JULIET. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET. I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO. 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.

JULIET. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

ROMEO. 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.

JULIET. 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 may'st 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;

* Except you love me.

+ False delicacy.