Prospero

In Verona's streets, a feud takes its place, Where rival houses vie with grace. A pair of lovers, star-crossed they be, Their tale of woe, can you see? A fragrant blossom, by any name known, Its essence lingers, though winds have blown. A maiden fair, whose light does break, In her presence, even the moon forsakes. To exist, or not, ponder and weigh, In life's grand play, what role do you play? From infancy to age, the world's your stage, Each step you take, a part to engage. A comparison drawn, to a summer's stay, But what is it, that I dare to say? More lovely, more mild, in every way, Yet fleeting as dawn, in the break of day. In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, So Juliet speaks, her love so discreet. But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun, Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea.