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Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem,
SCENE III-A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,
I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird! God forbid!-where's this girl!-what, Juliet!
Jul. How now, who calls?
La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,And yet, to my teen3 be it spoken, I have but four,She is not fourteen: How long is it now To Lammas-tide? La. Cap.
A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she,-God rest all Christain souls!-Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: But as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. "Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,Of all the days in the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua :Nay, I do bear a brain:-But, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,5
She could have run and waddled all about,
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man;-took up the child:
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy dam.6
The pretty wretch left crying, and said-Ay:
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule?
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said-Ay.
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.
Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but laugh,
To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
And yet I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou will fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-Ay.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of:-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief:-
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.8
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content:
And what obscured in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.9
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love!
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.
Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torchbearers, and others.
Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;2 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure,3 and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch,4-I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. Rom. I am too sore impierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with
Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax. The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.
i.e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.
A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows.
A torch bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers.
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in;
[Putting on a Mask. A visor for a visor!-what care I, What curious eye doth quote5 deformities? Here are the beetle brows, shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,—
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn daylight, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay.
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day."
Take our good meaning: for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lic. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true.
Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies?
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breath with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:S
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;.
And bakesf the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, this is she-
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'st of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes. ↑ Atoms. A place in court.
i.e. Fairy-locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night.
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from our-
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail!-On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.
SCENE V-A Hall in Capulet's House.
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.
1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one foul thing. or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a
1 Serv. Away with the joint stools, remove the court-cupboard,' look to the plate: -good thou, save me a piece of march-pane 2 and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!
1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind.
Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have
Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you:Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,
I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day,
That I have worn a visor; and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen!--Come, musicians,
A hall! a hall 3 give room, and foot it, girls.
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:→ Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
A sideboard on which the plate was placed. 2 Almond-cake. i. e. Make room.
Now, by the stock and honor of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe: A villain, that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night." 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't? Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentle. an; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all this town, Here in my house, do him disparagement: Therefore, be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him.
He shall be endured; What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall;-Go to;Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my soul-
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Go to, go to,
You are a saucy boy:-Is't so indeed!-
This trick may chance to scath5 you;-I know what,
You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox
Be quiet, or-More light, more light! For
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,-
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in
Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. [Kissing her.
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away; begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-
Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:-
More torches here!-Come on, then, let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse.
Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentle-
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would
Nurse. I know not.
Jul. Go. ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding-bed.
Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.
Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse. What's this? what's this? Jul.
A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. [One calls within, Juliet! Anon, anon:Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
Now old Desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young Affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, for which love groaned, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a toe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit,
SCENE I-An open place adjoining Capulet's One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it.
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too-
Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me!-couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
Do you an injury.
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.s
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape9 is dead, and I must conjure him.-
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar, This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an ex pression of tenderness.
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Ben. Come,he hath hid himself among those trees,
To be consorted with the humorous' night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar-tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.-
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?
Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here, that means not to be found.
SCENE II.-Capulet's Garden.
Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.[JULIET appears above, at a Window.
But,soft! what light throughyonder 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:
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheekwould shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Ah me! She speaks:O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Jul. O Romeo,Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Jul. "Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;-
Thou art thyself though, 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 name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,2
Without that title:-Romeo, doff'3 thy name;
And for that name which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd
So stumblest on my counsel?
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound;
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?
Humid, moist. Owns, possesses. Do off, put off.
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt,
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their
And, but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this
Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, deny
What I have spoke: But farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my 'havior light:
But, trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.6
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheardst, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's passion; therefore, pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,-
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my heart's dear loveJul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good-night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good-night, good-night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart, as that within my breast! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.
Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what pur
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thec,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within: Dear love, adieu!
[Nurse calls within
Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.
Kom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter JULIET, above.
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good-night,
If that thy bent of love be honorable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot l'il lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world:-
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.
Jul. I come, añon:-But if thou mean'st not
I do beseech thee,
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.
By and by, I come:-
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
So thrive my soul,-
Jul. A thousand times good-night! [Exit.
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly.
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live,
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities.
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse '
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified."
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and ined'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Rom. Good-morrow, father!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's Therefore thy carliness doth me assure,
At what o'clock to-morrow
At the hour of nine.
'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,9
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good-night, good-night! parting is such sweet sor-
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap' to tell. [Exit.
SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket.
Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked2 darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's3wheels:
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this osier cage of ours,
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou
Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man: for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift,
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage, when, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.
Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence