But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill envious moon, who is already sick and pale grief that thou her maid art more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious, I ler 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...... See how she leans her cheek upon that hand, O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.
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