'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself, not a Montague.

What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot

Nor arm nor face nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other word would smell as sweet.

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;

And for thy name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.