[Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window] JULIET 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. ROMEO 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 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 torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO 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: 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 It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some 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. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! [Enter Nurse, to the chamber] Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit] JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [He goeth down] JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! 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? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, 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. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!