Romeo And Juliet

by William Shakespeare

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.

Alas that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Why, such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

I have lost myself; I am not here: This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.

From Love’s weak childish bow she lives unharm’d. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide th’ encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.

For beauty, starv’d with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she; She is the hopeful lady of my earth.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him only lacks a cover. The fish lives in the sea, and ‘tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide.

Under love’s heavy burthen do I sink.

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude, too boist’rous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

And in this state she ‘gallops night by night Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;

True, I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind,

I fear, too early; for my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear- Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

His name is Romeo, and a Montague, The only son of your great enemy.

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 loathed enemy.

Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan’d for and would die, With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.

But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Temp’ring extremities with extreme sweet.

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.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

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.

What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.

Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d;

My life were better ended by their hate Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Do not swear at all; Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Young men’s love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.

Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks: They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.

But come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.

A plague o’ both your houses! They have made worms’ meat of me.

O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead! That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Can heaven be so envious?

What devil art thou that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.

These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.

Heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not.

I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince’s doom, It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more.

Now I have stain’d the childhood of our joy With blood remov’d but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she! and what says My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?

For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs, Who, raging with thy tears and they with them, Without a sudden calm will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.

The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes’ windows fall Like death when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, depriv’d of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death;

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead (Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!) And breath’d such life with kisses in my lips That I reviv’d and was an emperor.

Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death?