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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 misapplied;
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

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:

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 :

i Absolution.

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

Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken?


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 ;



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,

for grace,

and love for love allow;

Doth grace

The other did not so.
F. Lau.

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



A street.

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be ?
Came be 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. O, 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.

1 Arrow.

3 In allusion to Tybert the cat, in the story-book of Reynard the Fox.

3 Terms of the fencing-school. 4 In ridicule of those coxcombs who affected the manners of the French,


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