Take all myself. Rom. I take thee at thy word; Call me but love, I will forswear thy name, What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease. And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. Rom. With love's light wings did I oe'r-perch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here, I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far As that vast shore, wash'd with the farthest sea, Jul. Thou knowst the mask of night is on my face, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light; Rom. Lady by yonder blessed moon I vow- Jul. Do not swear at all; Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, And I'll believe thee. Rom. If my true heart's love. Jul. Well, do not swear-although I joy in thee, Rom. O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what love? Jul. But to be frank, to give it thee again. purpose, I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu. [Nurse calls within. Anon, Anon, good Nurse-Sweet Montague, be true,- Rom. O blessed, blessed night. I am afraid: 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 me word to-morrow Where, and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And follow thee, my love throughout the world. [Within-Madam. I come anon,-but if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-[Within Madam.] By and by I comeTo cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief. To morrow I will send. Rom. So thrive my soul. Ful. A thousand times good night. Rom. A thousand times the worse to want thy light. Enter JULIET again. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falk'ner's voice, Tolure this tassel gentle back again Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud, Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her angry tongue more hoarse than mine Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name. Jul. Romeo! Rom. My sweet! Ful. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? Rom. By the hour of nine. Jul. I will not fail, 'tis twenty years till then I have forgot why did I call thee back.' Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Rom. Rom. And I'll stay here 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, That lets it hop a little from her hand, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 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 sorrow, That I shall say good-night 'till it be morrow.、 [Erit Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast; Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.. Fri. SCENE, III. A MONASTERY. Enter Friar LAWRENCE with a basket: [Exit. HE grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,. Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry, With baleful weeds, and precious juiced flowers. In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities! For this being smelt, with that sense cheers each part;, And And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.. Enter ROMEO. Rom. Good-morrow, father. Fri. Benedicite, What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature; Rom. I tell thee, ere thou ask it me again; Where to the heart's core one hath wounded me,. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift. As mine on her's, so hers is set on mine: When, and where, and how We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vows, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I beg That thou consent to marry us to-day. Fri. Holy saint Francis, what a change is this! But tell me, son, and call thy reason home, Is not this love the offspring of thy folly, Bred from thy wantonness and thoughtless brain ? Lest that thy rash ungovernable passions,. Hurry thee one, thro' short-liv'd, dear-bought pleasures,. To cureless woes, and lasting penitence. Rom. I pray thee, chide me not, she whom I love, |