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Enter CAPULET, &c. with the Guests and the Maskers.
Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have [you :Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, [now? I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day,
That I have worn a visor; and could tell
You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians, play.
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls. [Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.
1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much; 'tis not so much :
"Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.
2 Cap. "Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, His son is thirty.
1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich
Of yonder knight?
Serv. I know not, Sir.
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
H beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
1 Cup. Why, how now kinsman? wherefore storm you so?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
Tyb. "Tis he, that villain Romeo.
1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him He bears him like a portly gentleman; [alone, And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all this town, Here in my house, do him disparagement: 1. e. Make room.
An Ethiopian, a black.
* The dance.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
1 Cap. He shall be endur'd:
You are saucy boy:-Is't so, indeed?—,
[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 much,
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 palm
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her.
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again.
Jul. You kiss by the book.
Rom. What is her mother?
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous:
dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
We have a trifling foolish banquet* towards.
[Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman ?
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 not dance?
Nurse. I know not.
Jul. Go, ask his name:-if he be married,
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
[One calls within, Juliet!
Nurse. Anon, anon:Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.
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 foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much To meet her new-beloved any where: [less But passion lends them power, time means to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
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!
And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
A collation of fruit, wine, &c.
II. c. Himself.
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle [him Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; That were some spite: my invocation 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:
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the Now will he sit under a medlar tree, [mark. 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?
Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here, that means not to be found. [Exeunt.
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 through yonder window breaks!
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Jul. Ah me!
Rom. She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thon art
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at
Rom. I take thee at thy word:
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:
[sound; Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and
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'erperch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, [sweet, Then twenty of their swords; look thou but 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
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 tonight.
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
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
I should have been more strange, I must conBut 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 blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the incon
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Jul. Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Rom. If my heart's dear love
Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in I have no joy of this contract to-night: [thee, 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
Re-enter JULIET, above.
If that thy bent of love be honourable, [row,
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.
Jul. I come, anon :-But if thou mean'st not
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
Rom. So thrive my soul,—
Rom. A thousand times the worse to want thy light.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
But love from love, toward school with heavy [Retiring slowly.
Rom. My sweet!
Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom. At the hour of nine.
SCENE III.-Friar LAURENCE'S Cell.
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Being tasted slays all senses with the heart.
Rom. Good morrow, father!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?-
Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
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 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; [bine
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By Jesu, a very good blade!—a very tall man!--á very good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashionmongers, 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!t
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not faste! 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, Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence -O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now then[men. is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Women may fall, when there's no strength in Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench; Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosa-mariy, she had a better love to be-rhyme 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 terfeit fairly last night. to your French slop. You gave us the coun
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
To lay one in, another out to have.
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
Fri. O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
Fri. Wisely, and slow; they stumble, that
SCENE IV.-A Street.
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough 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, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song,
I. c. It is of the utmost consequence for me to be hasty. + Arrow. 1 See the story of Reynard the Fox.
By notes pricked down.
Rom. Good-morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The slip, Sir, the slip; Can you not conceive?
Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say-such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning-to court'sy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well-flowered. 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!
Mer. 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, 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.