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Nurfe. I know nót.

Jul. Go, afk his name. If he be married, My Grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,
The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate ;
Too early feen, unknown; and known too late,
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? what's this?
ful. A rhyme I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.

Nurse. Anon, anon

[One calls within, Juliet.

Come, let's away, the strangers all are gone.



Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie,
And young Affection gapes to be his heir;
That Fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks :

But to his foe fuppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. ·

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe fuch vows as lovers ufe to fwear; And fhe, as much in love, her means much lefs, To meet her new-beloved any where:

CHORUS.] This chorus added fince the first edition. POPE. Chorus. The use of this chorus is not eafily difcovered, it conduces nothing to the progrefs


of the play, but relates what is already known, or what the next scenes will fhew; and relates it without adding the improvement of any moral sentiment.



But Paffion lends them power, Time means, to


Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.

[Exit Chorus.




Enter Romeo alone.


AN I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo.

Mer. He is wife,

And, on my life, hath ftol'n him home to bed.


Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchardwall.

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh,
Speak but one Rhyme, and I am fatisfied.
Cry but Дb me! couple but love and dove,
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,


One nick-name to her pur-blind fon and heir:
(Young Abraham Cupid, he that fhot so true,
When King, Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid-
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not,
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rofaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her fcarlet lip,
By her fine foot, ftraight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demefns that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An' if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him,
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him,
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
'Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were fome fpight. My invocation is
Honest and fair, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be conforted with the hum'rous night.

Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he fit under a medlar-tree,

And with his mistress were that kind of fruit,

Which maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.-< Romeo, good-night; I'll to my truckle-bed,

This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:

Come, fhall we go?

Ben. Go, then, for 'tis in vain

To feek him here that means not to be found.



9 When King Cophetua, &.] Alluding to an old ballad. POPE.

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• Rom.



Changes to Capulet's Garden.

Enter Romeo.

Ejefts at fcars, that never felt a woundBut, foft! what light thro' yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun!

[Juliet appears above, at a window.

Arife, fair Sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already fick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than fhe. 2 Be not her maid, fince fhe is envious;

Her veftal livery is but fick and


And none but fools do wear it; caft it off

3 It is my Lady; O! it is my Love;

O that she knew fhe were!

She fpeaks, yet fhe fays nothing; what of that?
Her eye difcourfes; I will anfwer it-

I am too bold, 'tis not to me the speaks :
Two of the faireft ftars of all the heav'n,
Having fome business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their fpheres 'till they return..
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would fhame those stars,
As day-light doth a lamp; her eyes in heav'n
Would through the airy region ftream fo bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not night:

He jefts at fears,] That is, Mercutio jefts, whom he overheard.

Be not her maid,] Be not a

votary to the moon, to Diana.

3 It is my lady;-] This line and half I have replaced.


See, how the leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
ful. Ah me!

Rom. She fpeaks.

4 Oh, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this Sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged meffenger from heav'n,
Unto the white-upturned, wondring, eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him;
When he bestrides 5 the lazy-pacing clouds,
And fails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo-wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:

Or, if thou wilt not, be but fworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or fhall I speak at this?

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy: 6 Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face-nor any other part. What's in a name? that which we call a rofe,

4Ò, speak again, bright Angel! for thou art

As glorious to this night,] Tho' all the printed copies concur in this reading, yet the latter part of the Simile feems to require,

As glorious to this Sight; and therefore I have ventured to alter the text fo. THEOBALD. 5--the lazy-pacing clouds] Thus corrected from the first edition, in the other lazy-puffing.

POPE. 6 Thou art thyself, though not


a Montague Ji. e. you would be just what you are, altho' you were not of the house of Montague. WARBURTON. I think the true reading is, Thou art thyfelf, then not a Montague.

Thou art a being of peculiar ex cellence, and haft none of the malignity of the family, from which thou haft thy name.

Hanmer reads,

Thou'rt not thyself so, though a Montague.

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