Act 3 - Scene 5
Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful
hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing
clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome!
Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.
It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from
arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
O, now be gone; more light
and light it grows.
More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!
Enter Nurse, to the chamber
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
The day is broke; be wary, look about.
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