The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood; and under favour of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand, calling it a shrine, which if he prophaned by touching it, he was a blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement.  “Good pilgrim,” answered the lady, “your devotion shews by far too mannerly and too courtly:  saints have hands, which pilgrims may touch, but kiss not.”  “Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?” said Romeo.  “Aye,” said the lady, “lips which they must use in prayer.”  “O then, my dear saint,” said Romeo, “hear my prayer and grant it, lest I despair.”  In such like allusions and loving conceits they were engaged, when the lady was called away to her mother.  And Romeo enquiring who her mother was, discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Mountagues; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to his foe.  This troubled him, but it could not dissuade him from loving.  As little rest had Juliet, when she found that the gentleman that she had been talking with was Romeo and a Mountague, for she had been suddenly smit with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo, which he had conceived for her; and a prodigious birth of love it seemed to her, that she must love her enemy, and that her affections should settle there, where family considerations should induce her chiefly to hate.

It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon missed him, for unable to stay away from the house where he had left his heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was at the back of Juliet’s house.  Here he had not been long, ruminating on his new love, when Juliet appeared above at a window, through which her exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in the east; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre of this new sun.  And she leaning her hand upon her cheek, he passionately wished himself a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek.  She all this while thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed, “Ah me!” Romeo, enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her, “O speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze upon.”  She, unconscious of being overheard, and full of the new passion which that night’s adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover by name (whom she supposed absent):  “O Romeo, Romeo!” said she, “wherefore art thou Romeo?  Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, for my sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no longer will be a Capulet.”  Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he was desirous of hearing