But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,

And if we meet, we shall not escape a brawl,

For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move,
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly

Compare her face with some that I shall show
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone.

Prodigious birth of love is it to me
That I must love a loathed enemy.

I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues and thee.

If ever you distrub our streets again/Your lives shall pay the forfeit.

Did my heart love till now? Foreswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

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

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometime by action dignified.

In one respect I’ll thy assistant be, For this alliance may so happy prove to turn your households’ rancor to pure love.

Tis but thy name that is my enemy.