JULIET: Are you leaving? But it's not yet daybreak.
It was the nightingale, not the lark, whose cry frightened you. Every night she sings on that pomegranate tree. Believe me, my love, it was the nightingale.
ROMEO: It was the lark, who announces the dawn—no nightingale.
Look, my love, at the jealous streaks of light that pierce the eastern clouds. Night's candles have burned out, and day is coming. I must go to live, or else stay here and die.
JULIET: That light is not daylight, I know it. It's a meteor sent by the sun to light your way to Mantua. Stay for a while. You need not go yet.