Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pule 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; 0, 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 cheek would 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!

Jul. Ah me!

Rom. 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 up-turned 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?

[Aside. 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 owest, Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

Rom. I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd

in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

Rom. 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 camest thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

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 ont:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt,
Therefore thy kinsmen are no letý 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 sight;

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.

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 merchandize.

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,
Pil 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 haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange t.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, 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 bless'd moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,-
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant
moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by ?

Jul. 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 love

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night:

It is too rash, too unadvised, 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 to-night?
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

pose, love?

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 thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

[Nurse calls within. I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Rom. 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.

[Exit.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send nie 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 I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world :
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. I come, anon:-But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee,

Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. By and by, I come :

place?

To-morrow will I send.
Rom. So thrive my soul,-

A votary to the moon, to Diana. Owns, possesses.

Hindrance.

Free.

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My sweet!

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?

Rom. At the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then. 1 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 gyvest,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would 1:

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sor-
row,

That I shall say-good night, till it be morrow.

[Exit. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy

Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up fill 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;
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor anght 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 med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
· part;

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 cats up that plant.
+ Fetters.
§ Spotted, streaked.
Virtue.

The male of the goshawk. t Chance, fortune.

The sun.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Good morrow, father! Fri. Benedicite!

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:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-roused 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
been then?

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 set

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
then-

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And badest me bury love.
Fri. Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.

Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

Torments him so, that he will sure run mad,
Ben. Tybait, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer & letter.

• i. e. It is of the utmost consequence for me, tó be hasty.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabb'd with a white wench's black eye; shot tho rough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft* : And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats t, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song 1, keeps tinie, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! The punto reverso! The hay !

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By Jesu, a very good blade!-A very tall man!-A very good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons |!

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:-0 flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flow'd in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-Marry, she had a better love to be-rhymer her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, Sir, the slip **; Can you not con

ceive?

Rom. Why, then is my pumpt well flower'd. Mer. Well said: follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled ‡‡ jest, solely singular for the singleness!

Mcr. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail.

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chace 55, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

• Arrow.

Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love! Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide his banble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter NURSE and PETER.
Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good dent, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den?

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick t of noon. Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.

Nurse. By ny troth, it is well said ;-For himself to mar, quoth'a?-Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely.

Nurse. If you be he, Sir, I desire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, Sir; unless a hare, Sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. Nurse. Marry farewell!-1 pray you, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than

he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were instier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt gills; I am none of his skains-matest:-And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on

to take.

Soft stretching leather

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vex'd, that It was the custom for servants to carry the lady's fan. + Good even. Point.

Hoary, mouldy.
The burthen of an old song.

A term of disrespect in contradistinction to gentleman. .. Roguery, ++ A mate or companion of one wearing a skain; a short sword.