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?
Ay me!
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!
Slide: 2
She speaks.O, speak again, bright angel, for thou artAs glorious to this night, being o'er my head,As is a wingèd messenger of heavenUnto the white upturnèd wond'ring eyesOf mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy puffing cloudsAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.
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.
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'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 word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would — were he not Romeo called — 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.
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
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