The Balcony

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.

Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

’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, 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; 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 thy 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 baptis’d; 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. Had I it written, I would tear the word.

My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

How cam’st 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’erperch 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 Than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

I would not for the world they saw thee here.

I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes, And but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

By whose direction found’st thou out this place?

By love, that first did prompt me to enquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, I should adventure for such merchandise.

Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke; but farewell compliment.

Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay, And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st, Thou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries, They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—

O swear not by the moon, th’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, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.

If my heart’s dear love,—

Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight; It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say “It lightens.” 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 tonight?

Th’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.

Would’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?

But to be frank and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have; 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. I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.

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.