Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

He makes fun of scars, having never felt a wound.

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.

But wait — what light is breaking through that window over there? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Rise, beautiful sun, and kill the jealous moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that you, her servant, are far more beautiful than she is. Don't be her servant, since she is jealous; her virgin's uniform is only sickly and green, and no one but fools wears it. Throw it off. It is my lady, oh, it is my love! Oh, if only she knew she were! She speaks, and yet she says nothing. What of that? Her eye talks; I will answer it. I am being too bold — it is not to me she speaks. Two of the most beautiful stars in the whole sky, having some errand to run, are begging her eyes to twinkle in their places until they come back. What if her eyes were up there, and those stars were in her head? The brightness of her cheek would put those stars to shame, the way daylight shames a lamp; her eyes up in the sky would stream so brightly through the airy region that birds would sing, thinking it was not night. Look how she leans her cheek on her hand. Oh, if only I were a glove on that hand, so that I could touch that cheek.

Ay me.

Oh dear.

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.

She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel, for you are as glorious to this night, being above my head, as a winged messenger of heaven is to the white, upturned, wondering eyes of mortals who fall back to stare up at him when he strides across the lazily drifting clouds and sails on the bosom of the air.

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.

Oh Romeo, Romeo, why must you be Romeo? Disown your father and give up your name. Or, if you will not, just swear you love me, and I will no longer be a Capulet.

[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

[Aside.] Should I listen for more, or should I speak now?

’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.

It is only your name that is my enemy; you are yourself, even if you were not a Montague. What is "Montague"? It is not a hand, or a foot, or an arm, or a face, or any other part belonging to a man. Oh, be some other name. What is in a name? The thing we call a rose would smell just as sweet by any other name; so Romeo, if he were not called Romeo, would keep that dear perfection he possesses without that title. Romeo, take off your name, and in exchange for your name, which is no part of you, take all of me.

I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

I take you at your word. Just call me love, and I will be baptised all over again; from now on I will never be Romeo.

What man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night So stumblest on my counsel?

What man are you, who, hidden like this behind the night, stumble into my private thoughts?

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.

By using a name I don't know how to tell you who I am. My name, dear saint, is hateful to me, because it is an enemy to you. If I had it written down, I would tear the word up.

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?

My ears have not yet drunk in a hundred words spoken by your tongue, and yet I know the sound. Are you not Romeo, and a Montague?

Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

Neither, beautiful girl, if you dislike either one.

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.

How did you get here, tell me, and why? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and this place means death, considering who you are, if any of my relatives find you 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.

I flew over these walls on love's light wings, for stone barriers cannot keep love out, and whatever love can do, love dares to attempt. So your relatives are no obstacle to me.

If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

If they see you, they will murder you.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

Oh no, there is more danger in your eye than in twenty of their swords. Just look at me kindly, and I am armoured against their hatred.

I would not for the world they saw thee here.

I would not for anything in the world have them see you 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.

I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; and as long as you love me, let them find me here. My life would be better ended by their hatred than my death put off while I lack your love.

By whose direction found’st thou out this place?

Whose directions did you use to find 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.

Love's — love first urged me to ask. He lent me advice, and I lent him eyes. I am no ship's pilot; yet if you were as far off as that huge shore washed by the most distant sea, I would risk the voyage for such goods.

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.

You know the mask of night is on my face, or else a girl's blush would colour my cheek for what you have heard me say tonight. I would gladly stick to proper manners, gladly, gladly deny what I have said — but goodbye to politeness. Do you love me? I know you will say "yes," and I will take your word for it. Yet if you swear, you might turn out false. They say Jove laughs at lovers' broken oaths. Oh gentle Romeo, if you do love, say so truthfully. Or if you think I am won too quickly, I will frown and be difficult and say no to you, so that you will woo me. But otherwise, not for the whole world. In truth, handsome Montague, I am too much in love, and so you may think my behaviour is loose; but trust me, sir, I will prove more faithful than those who have more skill at playing distant. I should have been more distant, I must admit, except that you overheard, before I knew it, my true passion of love. So forgive me, and do not put this surrender down to shallow love, which the dark night has exposed like this.

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

Lady, I swear by that blessed moon over there, which tips all these fruit-tree tops with silver—

O swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Oh, do not swear by the moon, the changeable moon, that changes every month in her circling orbit, in case your love turns out to be just as changeable.

What shall I swear by?

What should 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.

Do not swear at all. Or if you want to, swear by your own gracious self, which is the god I worship, and I will believe you.

If my heart’s dear love,—

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.

Well, don't swear. Although you are my joy, I take no joy in this agreement tonight. It is too rash, too unconsidered, too sudden — too like the lightning, which stops existing before you can say "It's lightning." Sweet, good night. This bud of love, with summer's ripening breath, may turn out a beautiful flower the next time we meet. Good night, good night. May sleep and rest as sweet as the peace within my breast come to your heart.

O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Oh, will you leave me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

What satisfaction can you have tonight?

Th’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.

The exchange of your faithful vow of love for mine.

I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; And yet I would it were to give again.

I gave you mine before you asked for it; and yet I wish it were still to give.

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

Would you take it back? For what reason, my 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. [Nurse calls within.] Anon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.

Only to be generous and give it to you again. And yet I am wishing for nothing but what I already have. My generosity is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to you, the more I have, for both are infinite. I hear some noise inside. Dear love, goodbye. [The Nurse calls from inside.] Coming, good Nurse! — Sweet Montague, be true. Wait just a little; I will come back.

O blessed, blessed night. I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering sweet to be substantial.

Oh blessed, blessed night. I am afraid that, since it is night, all this is only a dream, too flatteringly sweet to be real.

Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, 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.

Three words, dear Romeo, and then good night for real. If your inclination in love is honourable, and your intention is marriage, send me word tomorrow by someone I will arrange to come to you, telling me where and at what time you will perform the ceremony, and I will lay all my fortunes at your feet and follow you, my lord, all over the world.

[Within.] Madam.

[From inside.] Madam.

I come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee,—

I'm coming, in a moment. — But if you do not mean well, I beg you—

[Within.] Madam.

[From inside.] Madam.

By and by I come— To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow will I send.

I'm coming, right away — to stop your pursuit of me and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow I will send word.

So thrive my soul,—

So may my soul prosper—

A thousand times good night.

A thousand times good night.

A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.

A thousand times worse, for lacking your light. Love goes toward love as eagerly as schoolboys run from their books, but love leaves love the way they go to school, with heavy looks.

Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice To lure this tassel-gentle back again. Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud, Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine With repetition of my Romeo’s name.

Psst! Romeo, psst! Oh, for a falconer's voice to lure this noble male hawk back again. Captivity is hoarse and may not speak loudly, or else I would tear apart the cave where Echo lies, and make her airy tongue hoarser than mine by repeating my Romeo's name.

It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears.

It is my soul that calls out my name. How silver-sweet lovers' voices sound at night, like the softest music to listening ears.

Romeo.

Romeo.

My dear?

My dear?

What o’clock tomorrow Shall I send to thee?

At what time tomorrow should I send someone to you?

By the hour of nine.

By nine o'clock.

I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.

I will not fail. It is twenty years until then. I have forgotten why I called you back.

Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Let me stand here until you remember it.

I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

I will forget, so as to keep you standing there, remembering how much I love your company.

And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

And I will keep staying, so as to keep you forgetting, forgetting any other home but this one.

’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone, And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird, That 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.

It is almost morning; I would like you to go — and yet no farther than a spoilt girl's bird, which she lets hop a little way from her hand, like a poor prisoner in his twisted chains, and then pulls back with a silk thread, so lovingly jealous of its freedom.

I would I were thy bird.

I wish I were your 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.

Sweet, so do I — and yet I would kill you with too much petting. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow that I could say good night until it is morning.

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest. Hence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.

May sleep rest on your eyes, and peace in your breast. I wish I were sleep and peace, to rest so sweetly. From here I will go to my spiritual father's cell, to ask his help and tell him my dear good luck.