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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;
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
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,
and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
O, she knew well,
Ro. 0, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
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,
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
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
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
9 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.
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.
I Mean women.
Loose trowsers, a French fashion in Shakspeare's time. ; In allusion to a counterfeit piece of money called a slip.
* It was the custom to wear ribands in the shoes, in the shape of roses or other flowers.