R&J Act 3, Scene 5

JULIET
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 tops.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

JULIET
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 morning's eye,

'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat

The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat

The 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.

JULIET
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!

JULIET

Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

Farewell, farewell!

JULIET
O, by this count I shall be much in years

Ere I again behold my Romeo!

Farewell!

I will omit no opportunity

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

JULIET

O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve

For sweet discourses in our time to come.

JULIET

O me, I have an ill-divining soul!

Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,

As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:

Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:

Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!