Rom.

By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;

-Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound; Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

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'er-perch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

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 sight;

And, but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in

quire;

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; But farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say - Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant

moon

That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?
Jul.

Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.

Rom.
If my heart's dear love —
Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night :
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.,
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for
mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what pur

pose, 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. [Ent.

Rom. O blessed blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,

Rom.

At what o'clock to-morrow

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 here 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 gone: 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. Jul.

Sweet, so would I : Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning
night,

Checkering the 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 sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill 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 her 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.
O, 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, strain'd from that fair use,
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 the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Good morrow, father!

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 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 shrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set

On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on her's, so hers 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!
Is 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;
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 chang'd? pronounce this sentence
then

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

Fri.
O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come go with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households' rancour to pure love.
Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run
[Exeunt.

fast.

SCENE IV. - A Street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.

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,
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, 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; 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 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 with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moy's, 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.

What coun

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. Right.

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 wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose 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 any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

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 Ro meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well a 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 would'st 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!

Enter Nurse and PETER.
Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den?

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath roade himself to mar.

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said;-For himself to mar, quoth'a? - Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was whin you sought him: I am the youngest of that DNA, for 'fault of a worse.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took i'faith; wisely, wisely.

with you.

Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it

be spent.

Must be my convoy in the secret night.

Farewell! Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains, Farewell!-Commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! - Hark you, sir.

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say

Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady Lord, lord! - when 'twas a little prating thing, O, there's a noblemant in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.

[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Nurse. Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirtgills; I am none of his skains-mates:- And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, f I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on ny side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that very part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young ady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me ay, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, fye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they ay, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they ay for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, you should deal double with her, truly, it were ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and ry weak dealing.

ess.

-

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and misI protest unto thee, Nurse. Good heart! and, i'faith, I will tell her much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost ot mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest;
hich, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
Rom, Bid her devise some means to come to shrift
Fris afternoon;

and there she shall at friar Laurence' cell
e shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go to; I say, you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be

ere.

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbeywall:

thin this hour my man shall be with thee; ad bring thee cords made like a tackled stair:

him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R. is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter: and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. Peter!
Pet. Anon?

Nurse. Peter, Take my fan, and go before.

SCENE V.- Capulet's Garden.

Enter JULIET.

[Exit.

[Exeunt

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the

nurse;

In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance, she cannot meet him: - that's not so.
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over lowring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me :

awhile?

Do you not see, that I am out of breath?

breath

To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,—though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head akes! what a head have I?

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces,
My back o' t' other side,-O, my back, my back!-
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well :
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my
love?

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous :-Where is your mother?
Jul. Where is my mother?-why, she is
within ;

Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st?
Your love says like an honest gentleman,
Where is your mother?

Nurse.
O, God's lady dear!
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
Is this the poultice for my aking bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Jul. Here's such a coil, Come, what says
Romeo?

Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune! —honest nurse, farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder,"
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite :
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter JULIET.

Here comes the lady ; — Ó, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting fint:
A lover may bestride the gossomers
That idle in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for u

both.

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too

much.

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich musick's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Fri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Ex

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, God send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second