With repetition of my Romeo.

Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name; How filver-fweet found lovers' tongues by night, Like fofteft mufic to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My fweet!

ful. At what o' clock to-morrow Shall I fend to thee?

Rom. By 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 fhall forget, to have thee ftill ftand 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,

That let's it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prifoner in his twilted gyves,
And with a filk-thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, fo would ;

Yet I fhould kill thee with much cherishing.

1

Good night, good night Parting is fuch fweet forrow,
That I fhall fay good night till it be morrow. [Exit.
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
'Would I were fleep and peace, to fweet to reft!
Hence will to my ghostly Friar's close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

[Exit

SCENE HI. Changes to a monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,

Check'ring the eastern clouds with ftreaks of light:
And darkness flecker'd, like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels:
Now ere the fun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,

I must fill up this ofier-cage of ours

Which 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 fucking on her natural bosom find:
Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for fome, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants. herbs, ftones, and their true qualities.
Nor nought fo vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth fome fpecial good doth give:
Nor aught fo good, but, ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itfelf turns vice, being milapplied;
And vice fometime by action's dignified.
Within the infant rind of this fmall flower
Poifon hath refidence, and medic'nal power:
For this being fmelt, with that fenfe cheers each part;
Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart.
Two fuch oppofed kin incamp them still
In man, as well as herbs, grace and rude will :
And where the worfer is predominant,
Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father.
Fri. Benedicite!

What early tongue so sweet faluteth me?
Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head
So foon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth, fleep will never lie:
But where unbruifed youth with unftuft brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earlinefs doth me affure,

Thou art uprous'd by fome diftemp'rature;
Or if not fo, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night..
Rom. That laft is true, the fweeter reft was mine.
Fri. God pardon fin! waft thou with Rofaline?

.. Rom.

Rom. With Rofaline, my ghoftly father? no. I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

Fri. That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then?

Ron I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feafting with mine enemy;
Where, on a fudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfic lies;

I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for, lo,
My interceffion likewife teads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeffion finds but riddling thrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;

As mine on her's, fo her's is fet on nine;
And all combin'd, fave what thou muit 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 pafs; but this I pray,
That thou confent to marry us this day..

Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rofaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So foon forfaken? young mens love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jefu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath wash'd thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline?
How much falt water thrown away in waite,
To feafon love, that of it doth not taite ?
The fun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth fit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thyfelf, and thefe woes thine,
Thou and theie woes were all for Rofaline.

And art thou change d? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no ftrength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'dft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'it me bury love.

Fri. Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.

Rom.

Rom. I pray thee, chide not: fhe whom I love now, Doth grace for grace,

The other did not fo.

and love for love allow :

Fri. Oh, the knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But coine, young waverer, come, and go with me,
In one refpect I'll thy affiftant be!

For this alliance may fo happy prove,

To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love.
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden haste.
Fri. Wifely and flow, they ftumble that run fast.

[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to the street.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Mer. Where the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke with his man.

Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted wench, that Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will fure run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman to old Capulet, Hath fent a letter to his father's houfe.

Mer. A challenge on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mafter, how he dares, being dar'd.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-fhaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats, * ? -Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick-fongs, keeps time, distance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your boiom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellist, a duellist;

*Tybalt, the name given to the cat in the ftory-book of Reynold the Fox.

a gentleman of the very first houfe, of the first and fecond caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of fuch antic, lifping, affected phantafies, thefe new tuners of accents: Jefu! a very good blade! a very tall man!-a very good "whore !-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire! that we fhould be thus afflicted with thele Atrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, thefe pardonnez moy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench? O, their bon's their bon's!

Enter Romeo,

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the num bers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, fhe had a better love to berime her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypiy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibe a grey eye or fo: but now to the purpofe. Signior Romeo, bonjour! there's a French falutation to your French flop. * Rom. Good morrow to you both !

last nigh.

Enter

to your French flop, you gave us the counterfeit fairly

Rom. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive?

Rom, Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in fuch

a cafe as mine, a man may train courtesy..

Mer. That's a much as to fay, fuch a cafe as your's conítrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. M aning, to curt'fy,

Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it.

Rom. A moit courteous expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mr. Sure wit-follow me this jeft, now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the fingie fol: of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular.

Rom.