Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. [JULIET appears above, at a window. But soft! what light through yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!— I am too bold; 't is not to me she speaks: stars, As daylight doth a lamp: her eye in heaven Jul. Rom. Ah me! She speaks:O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a wingéd messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturnéd wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;— Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out: Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; And, but thou love me, let them find me here: Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in quire: He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea, face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, Rom. Lady, by yonder blesséd moon I swear. That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant I have no joy of this contract to-night: This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, for mine. Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within. I hear some noise within: dear love, adieu!Anon, good nurse!—Sweet Montague, be true.Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. Rom. O blessed, blesséd night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Jul. I come anon.-But if thou mean'st not well, Re-enter JULIET, above. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! With repetition of my Romeo's name. Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night; Like softest music to attending ears! Jul. Romeo! Rom. Jul. My sweet! Shall I send to thee? At what o'clock to-morrow Rom. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Nor aught so good, but, strained from that fair use, part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Rom. Good morrow, father! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?— reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 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 hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies. I bear no hatred, blesséd man; for lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift: Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: here! eyes. Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, "Women may fall, when there's no strength in men." Rom. Thou chid'dst me oft for loving Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 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 through 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. 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! 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-mois, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons! 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 be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbé, a grey 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 conceive? Rom. 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, Rom. Meaning, to courtesy. Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 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! Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail. Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wildgoose-chace, I have done; for thou hast more of the wildgoose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the goose. Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! Rom. I stretch it out for that word "broad:" which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. Ben. Stop there; stop there. Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale, against the hair. Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale: and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. Rom. Here's goodly geer! |