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It is too rash, too unadvised, 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! Ro. 0, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? Ju. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Ro. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for

mine. Ju. I gave thee mine before thou didst request

it;

And yet I would it were to give again.

Ro. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what pur

pose, love ?

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

Re-enter JULIET, above.
Ju. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night

indeed.
If at 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.

Ju. I come, anon :--but if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee,

Nurse. [within.] Madam.
Ju.

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

So thrive my soul,
Ju. A thousand times good night! [Exit.
Ro. A thousand times the worse to want thy

light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their

books ; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

[retiring slowly.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

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

voice,

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To lure this tassel-gentle 1 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.

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

Ju. Romeo !
Ro.

Madam!
Ju.

At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Ro.

At the hour of nine.
Ju. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Ro. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Ju. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

Ro. And I 'll still stay, to have thee still forget;
Forgetting any other home but this.
Ju. 'Tis almost morning: I would have thee

gone;
And yet no farther 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.

Ro. I would, I were thy bird.

1 The male of the gosshawk.

2 Fetters.

Ju.

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. Ro. 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. [Erit.

SCENE III.

Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket. F. Lau. The gray-eyed morn smiles on the

frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked 1 darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path, and Titan's ? fiery 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 :

| Spotted, streaked.

? The sun's.

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.
0, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities :
For naught 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 migapplied ;
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.

Ro. Good morrow,

father! F. Lau.

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:

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