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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.
O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou 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.
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'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out
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