Anagomezgarcia’s Weblog

This is a blog for my students at the Official Language School in Valencia

What´s in a name? (minute 2.00 in the film; fourth column in the text) February 11, 2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — anagomezgarcia @ 6:31 pm

Romeo and Juliet: Balcony Scene, Act 2, Scene 2 

Romeo.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

[Juliet appears above at a window.]

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east and Juliet is the sun! 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
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 heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp. Her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand 
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek! 

Juliet.
Ay me!

Romeo. 
She speaks. 
O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
 

Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes 
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him 
When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Juliet.
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.

Romeo.
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

[Juliet appears above at a window.]

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

Juliet. 
‘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 call’d, 
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.

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