Private Romeo Page #3

Thus from my lips,

by yours, my sin is purged.

Then have my lips the sin

that they have took.

Sin from thy lips?

O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.

It makes my flesh tremble

in their different greeting.

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Come!

Let's away.

Romeo,

Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

Romeo!

My cousin Romeo?

He is wise, Benvolio.

And, on my life,

hath stol'n him home to bed.

He ran this way.

- Call, good Mercutio.

- Nay,

I'll conjure too.

Romeo!

Humours!

Madman!

Lover!

Passion!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;

And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

This cannot anger him:

my invocation Is fair

and honest.

Come.

He hath hid himself among these trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night:

Blind is his love

and best befits the dark.

If love be blind,

it cannot hit the mark.

Romeo...

Good night.

I'll to my bed:

This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.

Go, then.

For 'tis in vain to seek him here

that means not to be found.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

But, soft!

What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east,

and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far

more fair than she.

O Romeo.

Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name.

What's in a name?

That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

retain that dear perfection which he owes

without that title.

Romeo, 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 Romeo.

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 enemy to thee.

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,

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 love's light wings

did I o'er-perch these walls.

For stony limits cannot hold love out.

And what love can do

that dares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen

are no stop to me.

If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

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