ROMEO 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, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she Be not her maid, since she is envious Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love.