8
It is an honour that I dream not of
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart my eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy
Juliet
Now old desire doth in his bed-death lie
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan’d for and would die,
With tender Juliet match’d is now not fair.
Now, Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of the looks,
But to his foe supposed he must complain
And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Beeing held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers used to swear.
Chorus