1 Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
2 Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
3 Come, he hath hid himself among these trees To be consorted with the humorous night.
4 Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.
5 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears.
6 I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes, And but thou love me, let them find me here.
7 I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
8 But as I said, On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
9 Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night.
10 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.
11 This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love, and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
12 Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must upfill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
13 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.'
14 I fear too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels; and expire the term Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
15 The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's wheels Hence will I to my ghostly Sire's cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
16 At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house.
17 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.
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