Above the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO. This shall forbid it. Lie thou there. [_Laying down her dagger._] What if her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it was the lark, That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO. It is too