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SCENE II.

ROMEO AND JULIET.
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters ;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.

County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ; the lady
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio, and his lovely

Cap. Bat saying o'er what I have said before : nieces ; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine ; Mine
My child is yet a stranger in the world,

uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years ; niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his
Let two more summers wither in their pride, cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

A fair assembly; [gives back the note.] Whither
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

should they come ? Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

Serv. Up. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,

Rom. Whither She is the hopeful lady of my earth :

Serv. To supper; to our house. But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,

Rom. Whose house? My will to her consent is but a part;

Serv. My master's. An she agree, within her scope of choice

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that Lies my consent and fair according voice.

before. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My Whereto I have invited many a guest,

master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not Such as I love; and you, among the store,

of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

a cup of wine.
Rest you merry.

[Erit. At my poor house, look to behold this night

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:

Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st ; Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel

With all the admired beauties of Verona : When well apparell'd April on the heel

Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Of limping winter treads, even such delight

Compare her face with some that I shall show, Among fresh female buds shall you this night

And I wilt make thee think thy swan a crow. Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye And like her mošt, whose merit most shall be:

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ! Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,

And these, who, often drown’d, could never die,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me;-

Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars !
Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out,

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.]

Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun. and to them say,

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:

But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd [Ereunt CAPULET and Paris. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written

Your lady's love against some other maid here? It is written that the shoemaker should And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

That I will show you, shining at this feast, meddle with his yard, and the taylor with his last, the fisher with his pencil , and the painter with his But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names SCENE III. A Room in Capulet's House. the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned In good time.

Enter Lady CAPÜLET and Nurse.
Enter BENVOLIO '
and Roneo.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her

forth to me. Beni Tut, man! one fire burns out another's Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, - at twelve

burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; I bade her come. - - What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ; God forbid ! where's this girl ? - what, Juliet !

One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to the eye,

Enter JULIET. And the rank poison of the old will die.

Tul. How now, who calls ? Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.

Nurse.

Your mother. Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Jul.

Madam, I am her Rom.

For your broken shin. What is your will ? Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ?

La. Cap. This is the matter : - Nurse, give lea Rom, Not mad, but bound more than a madman

awhile,

We must talk in secret. -Nurse, come back agai Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our couns Whipp'd, and tormented, and Good-e'en, good Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. fellow.

Nurse. ’Faith, I can tell her age unto an hou Serv. God gi' good e’en. I pray, sir, can you La. Cap. She's not fourteen. read?

Nurse.

I'll lay fourteen of my tee Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : She is not fourteen – How long is it now
But I pray, can you read any thing you see? To Lammas-tide ?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.

A fortnight, and odd days. Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry!

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Rom. Stay, fellow : I can read. (Reads. Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourte

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Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls ! Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
Werè of an age. — Well, Susan is with God; And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
She was too good for me : But, as I said,

Examine every married lineament,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ; And see how one another lends content; •
That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ;

Find written in the margin of his eyes.
And she was wean'd, - I never shall forget it, - This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
Of all the days of the year, upon that day :

To beautify him, only lacks a cover : For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,

The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, For fair without the fair, within to hide : My lord and you were then at Mantua :

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, Nay, I do bear a brain : - but, as I said,

That in gold clasps locks in the golden story i When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple So shall you share all that he doth possess, Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!

By having him, making yourself no less. To see it ietchy, and fall out with the dug.

Nurse. No less ? nay, bigger ; women grow by Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I trow,

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' To bid me trudge.

love? And since that time it is eleven years :

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking more : For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood, But no more deep will I endart mine eye, She could have run and waddled all about.

Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. For even the day before, she broke her brow :

Enter a Servant. And then my husband - God be with his soul ! 'A was a merry man ; - took up the child :

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?

served up, you called, my young lady asked for, Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit ;

the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in Wilt thou not, Jule ? and, by my holy dam,

extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you,

follow straight. The pretty wretch left crying, and said - dy: To see now, how a jest shall come about !

La. Cap. We follow thee. - Juliet, the county I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

stays. I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to bappy days he : And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said - Ay.

SCENE IV. - Street. La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with Fixar peace. Nurse. Yes, 'madam ; yet I cannot choose but

Sir Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and others. laugh,

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our To think it should leave crying, and say - Ay:

excuse ? And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow

Or shall we on without apology ? A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.

We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'à with scarf,
Yea, quoth my husband, fallost upon thy face? Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age ; Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ;
Wilt thou not, Jule ? it stinted, and said

Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. After the prompter, for our entrance :
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to But let them measure us by what they will,
his grace!

We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: Rom. Give me a torch, - I am not for this amo-
An I might live to see thee married once,

bling; I have my wish.

Being but heavy, I will bear the light. La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you I came to talk of: - Tell me, daughter Juliet,

dance. How stands your disposition to be married ?

Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead, Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

To soar with his light feathers; and so bound. Are made already mothers : by my count,

I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: I was your mother much upon these years

Under love's heavy burden do I sink. That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief ;- Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Too great oppression for a tender thing. Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, As all the world - Why, he's a man of wax. Too rude, too boist'rous ; and it pricks like therra

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

love; La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gen- Prick love for pricking, and you beat love donne tleman ?

Give me a case to put my visage in : This night you shall behold him at our feast :

(Putting on a

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A visor for a visor! - what care I,

That presses them, and learns them first to bear, What curious eye doth quote deformities ?

Making them women of good carriage.
Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. This, this is she
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, Rom.

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; But every man betake him to his legs.

Thou talk'st of nothing. Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, Mer.

True, I talk of dreams; Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; Which are the children of an idle brain, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, – Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,

Which is as thin of substance as the air ; The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own Even now the frozen bosom of the north, word :

And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourUp to the cars. - Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Mer.

I mean, sir, in delay Rome. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives) We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits Shall bitterly begin his fearful date i Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. With this night's revels; and expire the term

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask; Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, But 'tis no wit to go.

By some vile forfeit of untimely death : Mer.

Why, may one ask? But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Direct my sail !-On, lusty gentlemen.
Mer.
And so did I. Ben. Strike, drum.

[Ereunt.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.
That dreamers often lie.

SCENE V. - A Hal in Capulet's House. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take you.

away ? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one In shape no bigger than an agate-stone

or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a On the fore-finger of an alderman,

foul thing. Drawn with a team of little atomies

i Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :

court-cupboard, look to the plate : - good thou, Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest The cover, of the wings of grashoppers ;

me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and The traces, of the smallest spider's web;

Nell.

Antony! and Potpan ! The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : 2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready. Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film : 1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnaj,

for, and sought for, in the great chamber. Not half so big as a round little worm

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid :

Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,

liver take all.

[They retire behind. Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.

Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests, and the

Maskers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:

toes O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you : O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Ah ha, my mistress! which of you all Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Will now deny to dance ? she that makes dainty, she, Because their breaths with sweat-meats tainted are. I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now? Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : That I have worn a visor ; and could tell And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,

Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis Then dreams he of another benefice :

gone : Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

You are welcome, gentlemen! - Come, musicians, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

play. Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

A hall ! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls. Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon

[Musick plays, and they dance. Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes; More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,

Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. That plats the manes of horses in the night; Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, For you and I are past our dancing days : Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. How long is't now, since last yourself and I This is the hag, when maids lię on their backs, Were in a mask?

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2 Cap.
By'r lady, thirty years.

Rom. If I profane with ny unworthy hand 1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so

To JÚLIDT. much :

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stånd Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Some five and twenty years ; and then we mask'd. Tul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand te 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir;

much, His son is thirty.

"Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; 1 Сар. Will you tell me that? For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touchi

, His son was but a ward two years ago.

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? hand

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Of yonder knight?

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; Serv. I know not, sir.

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night

sake. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear :

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

take. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, Thús from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

[zssing her. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have look. And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Rom. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

urg'd! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Give me my sin again. Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague: Jul.

You kiss by the book. Fetch me my rapier, boy: – What! dares the Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with slave

you. Come hither, cover'd with an antick face,

Rom. What is her mother? To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ?

Nurse.

Marry, bachelor, Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,

Her mother is the lady of the house, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous :
1 Cap. Why, how now kinsman? wherefore storm I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;

I tell you, - he, that can lay hold of her,
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; Shall have the chinks.
A villain, that is hither come in spite,

Rom.

Is she à Capulet? To scorn at our solemnity this night:

O dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't ?

Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best. Tyb.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unres.. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gox; He bears him like a portly gentleman;

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,

Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all ;' To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : I thank yða, honest gentlemen ; good night : I would not for the wealth of all this town,

More torches here! - Come on, then let's to bed. Here in my house, do him disparagement : Ah, sirrah, [ To 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late ; Therefore be patient, take no note of him,

I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nars It is my will; the which if thou respect,

Jul. Come hîther, nurse: What is yon gentlema? Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petradas I'll not endure him.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would st He shall be endur'd ;

dance? What, goodman boy!- I say, he shall ; - Go to;- Nurse. I know not. Am I the master here, or you ? go to.

Jul. Go, ask his name:- if he be married, You'll not endure him ! - God shall mend my My grave is like to be my wedding bed. soul

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montzæ; You'll make a mutiny among my guests !

The only son of your great enemy. You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man ! Jul. My only love sprung from my only base! Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

Too early seen unknown, and known too late! I Cap.

Go to, go to, Prodigious birth of love it is to me, You are a saucy boy :- -Is't indeed ?

That I must love a loathed enemy. This trick may chance to scath you; - I know Nurse. What's this? What's this? what.

Jul.

A rhyme I learn'd even ** You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time - of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juur Well said, my hearts : – You are a princox; go : Nurse.

Anon, anon :
Be quiet, or More light, more light, for shame! Come, let's away; the strangers all are goos
I'll make you quiet; What ! --- Cheerly, my hearts.

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

Enter Cronus I will withdraw : but this intrusion shall,

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Erit. And young affection gapes to be his heir

1 Cap.

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That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die, Being held a foe, he may not have access

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ; Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

And she as much in love, her means much less Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;

To meet her new-beloved any where : But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,

But passion lends them power, time means to meet, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks : Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Erit.

ACT II.

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SCENE I. -- An open Place, adjoining Capulet's | But, soft! what light through yonder window Garden.

breaks!

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Enter Romeo.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Who is already sick and pale with grief,
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out. That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
(He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Be not her maid, since she is envious ;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.

And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off.
Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo !

It is my lady; 0, it is my love : Mer.

He is wise; 0, that she knew she were ! And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. She speaks, yet she says nothing ; What of that? Beth He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard Her eye discourses, I will answer it. wall:

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Call, good Mercutio.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Mer.

Nay, I'll conjure too. Having some business, do entreat her eyes Romeo ! humours ! madman! passion ! lover! To twinkle in their spheres till they return. Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,

What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, Cry but -- Ah me! couple but — love and dove; As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

Would through the airy region stream so bright, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-mnaid. O, that I were a glove upon that hand, He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not; That I might touch that cheek! The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.

Jul.

Ah me! I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,

Rom.

She speaks: By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

As is a winged messenger of heaven That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,

Mer. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

And sails upon the bosom of the air. Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down ;

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name :
That were some spite : my invocation

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? Ben Come, he hath hid himself among those trees,

Aside. To be consorted with the humorous night:

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy; Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. · Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot, Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, Belonging to a man. 0, be some other name ! As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, Romeo, good night ; - I'll to my truckle-bed ; By any other name would smell as sweet; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep :

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Come, shall we go?

Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Ben.

Go, then ; for 'tis in vain Without that title: - Romeo, doff thy name; To seek him here, that means not to be found. And for that name, which is no part of thee,

(Eseunt. Take all myself.
Rom.

I take thee at thy word :
SCENE IÍ. Capulet's Garden. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;

Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Enter Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.

night,
[Juliet appears above, at a window. So stumblest on my counsel ?

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