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.

[days. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.- A Street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, 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 hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
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, and be gone,

Rom. Give me a torch,-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 empierced 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 love; 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 quote 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
word:

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 day-light, ho.

Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer.
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.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign threats,
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 er 16,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodo.
This is the bag, 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-

Rom.

Peace, peace, Mercutio, pean Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer.

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; And more inconstant than the wind, who wodes 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 selves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgive 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 geutlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exc

SCENE V-A Hall in Capulet's House. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps take away? he shift a trencher! he scrap trencher!

[Exeunt.

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 less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-An open Place, adjoining Capulet's Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

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! Mer. He is wise; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard Call, good Mercutio. [wall: Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.-Romeo! humours! 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, One nickname for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering 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 Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him.

[trees,

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those To be consorted with the humourous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will be 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.

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,
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-

SCENE II. Capulet's Garden. Enter ROMEO. Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. (Juliet appears above, at a window.)

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
That birds would sing, and think it were not magik
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
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!
She speaks:-

Rom.
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.

[mee!

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thea Bo 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 (Asuk)

Rom. I take thee at thy word: Henceforth I never will be Romeo. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;

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

bere.

[sight;

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 place? [quire; Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inHe 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. [face;

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my 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; bat farewell compliment! Dost love me? I know, thou wilt say-Ay; And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove falsé; 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 haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'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 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 unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good night! This bad 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. [it: Jul. I gave thee mine before thou did'st request And yet I would it were to give again. Rom. Would'st 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 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.

[Exit.

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

My sweet!

At what o'clock to-morrow

Jul. Shall I send to thee? Rom. At the hour 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. [gone: Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee 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, 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

sorrow,

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

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

breast!

'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 night,

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks oflight;
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels:
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 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 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 eats up that plant.
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-rous'd by some distemp'rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOur 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?

[drift;

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine eneiny; 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 Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: [is set As mine on her's, so hers is set on mine; And all combin'd, 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 chang'd? pronounce this sentence
then-

Not in a grave.

BOW,

Fri. To lay one in, another out to have. Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love 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. Bat 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' rancour to pure love. Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely and slow; They stumble, that r fast. [Exeunt

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 bad'st me bury love.

SCENE IV-A Street. 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 went, that Rosaline,

Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, 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.

[a letter Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master. how he dares, being dared.

stabbed with a white wench's black eye; she Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead' through the ear with a love-song; the very pin si his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-sha And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, die O, he is the courageous captain of compliments tance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest. one, two, and the third in your bosom: the ver butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist, i 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! B Jesu, a very good blade!-a very tall man!—a ery grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted wit good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing pardonnez-moy's, who stand so much on the nes these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, the form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench O, their bons, their bons!

I

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herringO, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, te his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, she bad a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gar us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morrow to you both. terfeit did I give you? Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not cos Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business wa great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to say-such a case 15 yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning-to court'sy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

What cou [ceive