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. O, be some other name Belonging to a man. What’s in a name?
By any other word would smell as sweet.So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,Retain that dear perfection which he owesWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And, for thy name, which is no part of thee,Take all myself. That which we call a rose
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,So stumblest on my counsel?
I take thee at thy word.Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.Henceforth I never will be Romeo
O blessèd, blessèd night! I am afeard,Being in night, all this is but a dream,Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.—Anon, good nurse.—Sweet Montague, be true.Stay but a little; I will come again.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest. Hence will I to my ghostly friar’s close cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
Sweet, so would I.Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow .That I shall say “Good night” till it be morrow.