He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

     JULIET appears above at a window

     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!