Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so?
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathèd enemy.
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.