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- Wilt thou be goshe ne? it is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearfull hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Belive me, love, it was the nightingale.
- It was the lark, the heral of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks. Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Nights candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mpountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
- Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhales. To be to thee this night a torch bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefpore stay yet. Thou need'st not to be gone.
- Let me be ta'en. Let me be put tp death. I am content, so thou wilt have it so. Ill say yon grey is not the morning's eye. 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow. Nor that is not the lard, whoes notes to beat the vaulty heaveans so high above our heads. I have more care to stay then will to go. Come, death, open! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? Lets talk. It is not day.
- More light and light, more dark and dark our woves!
- It is, it is. Hie hence! Be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, straining harsh dicords and unplease sharps. some say the lark makes sweet divisiopn this doth not so, for she is divideth us. Some say the lark and loathed toaded change eyes. O, now i would thye had changd voiced too, since arm form arm taht voice doiuth us a affray, hunting thee henced the hunt- up to the day. O, now be gone. More light and light it grows.
- Madam
- Nurse?
- Farewell, farewell. One kiss, and ill descend.
- Your lady mother is coming to you chamber. The day is broke. Be wary, look about.
- Then, window, let day in and let life out.
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