When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes,
And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre

Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Denie thy Father and refuse thy name:
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue,
And Ile no longer be a Capulet

Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this?
Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy:
Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague,
What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote,
Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name
Belonging to a man.
What? in a names that which we call a Rose,
By any other word would smell as sweete,
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd,
Retaine that deare perfection which he owes,
Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name,
And for thy name which is no part of thee,
Take all my selfe

Rom. I take thee at thy word:
Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd,
Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo

Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsell?
Rom. By a name,
I know not how to tell thee who I am: