ROMEO & JULIET. Уильям Шекспир

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

       That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

       Benvolio.

       An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

       Mercutio.

       This cannot anger him: ‘twould anger him

       To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,

       Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

       Till she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;

       That were some spite: my invocation

       Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,

       I conjure only but to raise up him.

       Benvolio.

       Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

       To be consorted with the humorous night:

       Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

       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.—

       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.

       Ah 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-pacing 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 that name, which is no part of thee,

       Take all myself.

       Romeo.

       I take thee at thy word:

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

       Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

       Juliet.

       What man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night,

       So stumblest on my counsel?

       Romeo.

       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.

       Juliet.

       My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words

       Of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound;

       Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

       Romeo.

       Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

       Juliet.

       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.

       Romeo.

       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 let to me.

       Juliet.

       If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

       Romeo.

       Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

       Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,

       And I am proof against their enmity.

       Juliet.

       I would not for the world they saw thee here.

       Romeo.

       I have night’s cloak to