O Romoe, Romoe! wherefore art thou Romoe? Deny thy father and refuse they name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and i'll on longer be a cuplet.
Shall i hear more, or shall i speak at this?
'Tis but thy name that is my emeny; thou art thyself though not a Montague. What's Montage? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor arm, 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 romoe would, were he not romoe call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romoer, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee take all myself.
I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and i'll be new baptized; Henceforth i never will be Romoe
What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel?
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 emeny to thee; Had i it written, i would tear the word.
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?
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
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.
With loves's ligth wings did I o'er perch these walls; for stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love appempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Then twenty of their sowrds; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.