but, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? 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 heavens, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. see, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! o, that i were a glove upon that hand, that i might touch that cheek!
she speaks. o, speak again, bright angel!
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.
shall i hear more, or shall i speak at this?
'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 called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself.
i take thee at thy word. call me but love, and i'll be new baptized; henceforth i never will be romeo.
what man art thou that thus bescreened in night so stumblest on my counsel?
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.
my ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet i know the sound. art thou not romeo and a montague?
neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
how camest 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.
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.
if they do see thee, they will murder thee.
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.
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 an 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 'havior 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's passion: therefore pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love, which the dark night hath so discovered.
lady, by yonder blessed moon i swear
o, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
what shall 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.
Jean-Marie G. Le Clézio (2008) Herta Müller (2009)
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