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How can I go when my heart is here? I must stay and find my center.
Romeo! My cousin, Romeo!
No, I think he ran this way and leaped over the orchard wall. Call out good Mercutio.
I'll call him with magic words. Romeo! Madman! Passionate lover! Appear to us in the likeness of a sigh, Speak just one rhyme and I am satisfied.
If he's wise, he's gone home to bed!
Cry but "Ah, me!" Pronounce but "love" and "dove." Speak to my gossip Venus, one nickname for her blind son Cupid. I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
If he hears thee, thou wilt anger him.
This cannot anger him. My invocation Is fair and honest. In his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise up him.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night. Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Romeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle bed. This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.— Come, shall we go?
Go, then, for ’tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found.
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