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?

Ben.

Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Capulet's Garden.
Enter ROMEO.

Rm. 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 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-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? [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 owes,2 Without that title:-Romeo, doff3 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 baptiz'd;
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 cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

'Humid, moist. Owns, possesses. Do off. put off.

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

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 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 purpose, 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 intinite.

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.
[Exit.
Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
• Unless.

Hindrance.

Sby.

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,

⚫indeed.

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 I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world :-
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. I come, añon:-But if thou mean'st not
well,
I do beseech thee,-
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul.

By and by, I come:To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul,Jul. A thousand times good-night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's voice,

To lure this tassel-gentles back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom.

Jul.

Shall I send to thee?

My sweet!

At what o'clock to-morrow

Rom. At the hour of nine. Jul. I will not fail; '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.

Jul. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good-night, good-night! parting is such sweet sor

SCENE III-Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, 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;

Inclination.

The teircel is the male hawk, the falcon the female. » Fetters. Chance, fortune. Spotted, streaked.

The sun.

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 medicine 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 eats up that plant.
Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Good-morrow, father! Fri.

Benedicife!
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 carliness doth me assure,

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 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 chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st 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

now,

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 spel'.
But come, young waverer, come go with me
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;

For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households' rancor to pure love

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 through 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,5 I can tell you. 0, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, 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!7

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 fish, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and hariots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French salutation to your French slop.8 You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morru w to you both. What counterieit did I give yo?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip;9 Can you not conceive!

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase 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 swee goose?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel,3 that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

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

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 bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desirest ine 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!

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, sir, 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 lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those An apple. Soft stretching leather. • Good-even. Point. Hoary, mouldy. A term of disrespect, in contradistinction to gentleman.