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how she leans her cheek upon her hand!O, that I were a glove upon that hand,That I might touch that cheek!
Ay me!
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou artAs glorious to this night, being o'er my headAs is a winged messenger of heavenUnto the white-upturned wondering eyesOf mortals that fall back to gaze
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.
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 partBelonging to a man. O, be some other name!
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
what man art thou that thus bescreen'd in the night o tumblet on my council
I take thee at thy word:Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
by a name , i know not how to tell thee who i am , my name my dear aint i hateful to myself because it i an enemy to thee had i written
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordsOf that tongue's utterance, yet I know thee sound:Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
nether fair aint , if ether 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.

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