Romeo and Juliet Page #5

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by the moon, the

inconstant moon, That

monthly changes in

her circled orb, Lest

that thy love prove

likewise variable.

What shall

I swear by?

Do not swear at

all; Or, if thou

wilt, swear by thy

gracious self, And

I'll believe thee.

Sweet, good night!

This bud of love,

by summer's ripening

breath, May prove a

beauteous flower when

next we meet.

Good night,

good night!

as sweet repose and

rest Come to thy

heart as that

within my breast!

O, wilt thou leave

me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction

canst thou

have to-night?

The exchange of

thy love's faithful

vow for mine.

I gave thee mine

before thou didst

request it:
And yet I

would it were to

give again.

Wouldst thou

withdraw it?

for what

purpose, love?

But to be frank, and

give it thee again.

I hear some noise

within; dear love,

adieu!

Juliet.

Anon, good nurse!

Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little,

I will come again.

O blessed,

blessed night!

I am afeard.

Being in night, all

this is but a dream,

Too flattering-sweet

to be substantial.

Three words,

dear Romeo, and

good night indeed.

If that thy bent of

love be honourable,

Thy purpose marriage,

send me word

to-morrow, By one

that I'll procure to

come to thee, Where

and what time thou

wilt perform the

rite; And all my

fortunes at thy foot

I'll lay And follow

thee my lord

throughout the world.

So thrive my soul--

A thousand

times good night!

A thousand times

the worse, to want

thy light

Hist! Romeo, hist!

O, for a falconer's

voice, To lure this

tassel-gentle

back again!

Romeo!

My dear?

Romeo!

My dear?

I have forgot why

I did call thee back.

Let me stand here

till thou remember it.

I shall forget,

to have thee still

stand there,

And I'll still

stay, to have thee

still forget,

'Tis almost

morning; I would have

thee gone:
And yet

no further than a

wanton's bird; Who

lets it hop a little

from her hand, Like a

poor prisoner in his

twisted gyves, And

with a silk thread

plucks it back again,

So loving-jealous of

his liberty.

I would I

were thy bird.

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.

Goodnight.

The grey-eyed

morn smiles on the

frowning night,

Chequering the

eastern clouds with

streaks of light,

Now, ere the sun

advance his burning

eye, The day to cheer

and night's dank dew

to dry, I must

up-fill this osier

cage of ours With

baleful weeds and

precious-juiced

flowers.

The earth that's

nature's mother is

her tomb; What is her

burying grave that is

her womb, And from

her womb children of

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