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MERCUTIO . If love be blind , love cannot hit the mark . Now will he sit under a medlar tree , And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars when they laugh alone . O Romeo , that she were , O that she were An open - arse and thou a poperin pear ! Romeo , good night . I’ll to my truckle - bed . This field - bed is too cold for me to sleep . Come , shall we go ? BENVOLIO . Go then ; for ’ tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found . [ Exeunt . ] SCENE II . Capulet’s Garden . Enter Romeo . ROMEO . He jests at scars that never felt a wound . Juliet appears above at a window . 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 . Be not her maid since she is envious ; Her vestal livery is but sick and green , And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off . It is my lady , O it is my love ! O , that she knew she were ! She speaks , yet she says nothing . What of that ? Her eye discourses , I will answer it . I am too bold , ’ tis not to me she speaks . 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 ? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars , As daylight doth a lamp ; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night . See how she leans her cheek upon her hand . O that I were a glove upon that hand , That I might touch that cheek . JULIET . Ay me . ROMEO . She speaks . O speak again bright angel , for thou art As glorious to this night , being o’er my head , As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white - upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy - puffing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air . JULIET . 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 . ROMEO . [ Aside . ] Shall I hear more , or shall I speak at this ? JULIET . ’ 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 .
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