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 uproused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right;Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Ro. That last is true, the sweeter rest was

mine. F. Lau. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosa

line ? Ro. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. F. Lau. That's my good son: but where hast

thou been then? Ro. 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. F. Lau. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy

drift: Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.1 Ro. 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.
F. Lau. 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. Ro. Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline. F. Lau. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. Ro. And badest me bury love. F. Lau.

Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. Ro. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love now,

Doth grace

The other did not so.
F. Lau.

O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
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.

Ro. 0, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
F. Lau. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run
fast.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTJO.

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 wench,

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.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter.

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 thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft : 1 and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats,? 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 ! 3.

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? 0, their bons, their bons ! 4

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 numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench ;-marry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra,' a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings 1 and harlots; Thisbe, a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose.—Signior Romeo, bon jour ! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Ro. Good morrow to you both.—What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip : 3 can you not conceive?

Ro. Pardon, good Mercutio; my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Ro. Meaning to courtesy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Ro. A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Ro. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Ro. Why, then is my pump well flowered.

I Mean women.

Loose trowsers, a French fashion in Shakspeare's time. ; In allusion to a counterfeit piece of money called a slip.