24th March 2017


1   He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

  2   But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
  3   It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
  4   Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
  5   Who is already sick and pale with grief,

 6   That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
  7   Be not her maid, since she is envious;
  8   Her vestal livery is but sick and green
  9   And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
 10   It is my lady, O, it is my love!
 11   O, that she knew she were!
 12   She speaks yet she says nothing; what of that?
 13   Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
 14   I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.



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