Asking for Her Heart

Give me thy heart, Juliet, give me thy heart! 
I have a need of it, an absolute need, 
Because my own heart has thus long been dead. 
I live but by thy life. The very smart 
Of this new pain which has been born of thee 
Is thine, thy own great pleasure’s counterpart. 
I stand before thee naked. Clothe thou me. 
Bring out a robe,—thy truth, thy chastity. 
Put rings upon my fingers,—honour’s meed. 
For thou canst give, nor ever reck the cost, 
Being the royal creature that thou art, 
The fountain of all honour, whose high boast 
Is to be greatest when thou givest most.