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My sweet! Jul.

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

At 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 bere 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. 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.

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, 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.



SCENE III. Friar Laurence's Cell,

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a Basket. Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frown

ing night, Checkering ibe eastern clouds with streaks of

light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's

wheels: Now, ere the son advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must fill up 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 ber 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.
0, 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, straind from that fair

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 tbe 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 inorrow to thy bed : Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where onbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth

reign : Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art uprous'd by some distemp'rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOor 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 ? Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy; Where on a sudden, one bath wounded me, That's by me wounded; both our remedies Within thy help and holy physick lies : I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy

drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling sbrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love

is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so bers 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 18 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;

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

thenWomen may fall, when there's no strength in

men. Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. Rom. And bad'st me bury love. Fri.

Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have.

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Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she whom I

love now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow; The other did not so. Fri,

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 Mill thy assistant be ; For tbis alliance may so happy prove, To turn your household's rancoar to pure love.

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


SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Mer. Wbere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not bome to-night?

Ben. Not to bis father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ab, that same pale hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline, Torments bim 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, be will answer the letter's master, how be 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 buttshaft: 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!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antick, 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 wiih 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 !

Enter ROMEO. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comez Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring;o, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified !-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch fiowed in: Laura, to bis lady, was but a kitchen wench ;marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and barlots; 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.

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

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip: Can you not con. ceive?

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

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

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

Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness.

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