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If e'er thou waft thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rofaline.

And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

Rom. Thou chidd'ft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, Pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'ft me bury love.

Fri. Not in a Grave,

To lay one in, another out to have..

- Rom. I pray thee, chide not: fhe, whom I love


Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow :
The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh, fhe knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not fpell.
But come, young waverer, come and go with me,
In one refpect I'll thy affiftant be:

For this alliance may fo happy prove,

To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love.
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.
Fri. Wifely and flow; they ftumble, that run faft.




Changes to the STREET.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.


HERE the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I spoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted, wench;

that Rofaline,

Torments him fo, that he will, fure, run mad.


Ben. Tybalt, the kinfinan to old Capulet, Hath fent 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 anfwer a letter.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mafter how he dares, being dar'd.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-fhaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt!

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats?-Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick'd fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first houfe, of the first and second cause; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the, hay !

Ben. The what?

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Mer. The pox of fuch antick, lifping, affected phantafies, these new tuners of accents:" A very good blade!-- a very tall man!a very good "whore !" Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with these ftrange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnezmoy's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench? 9 O, their bon's, their bon's!

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, fhe had a better love to berhyme her; Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipfy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibé a grey eye or fo, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French Slop. You gave us the contrefait fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morrow to you both: What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in fuch a case as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy.

7 Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire!] Humouroufly apostrophifing his ancestors,whole fober times were unacquainted with the fopperies here complained of.


Thefe pardonnez-mois,] Pardonnez-mei became the language of doubt or hesitation among men of the fword, when the point of honour was grown fo delicate, that no other mode of contradiction would be endured.

9 O, their bones! their bones!] Mercutio is here ridiculing thofe frenchified fantastical coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moy's: and therefore, I fufpect here he

meant to write French too.

O, their bon's! their bon's! i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out good, and being in extafies with every trifle; as he has just described them before.

- a very good blade! &c. THEOB. Mer.

Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours conftrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning, to curt'fy.

Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it.

Rom. A moft courteous expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.-

Mer. Right.


Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mer. Sure wit-follow me this jeft, now, till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the fingle fole of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular.

Rom. O fingle-fol'd jeft,

Solely fingular, for the fingleness!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints. Rom. Switch and fpurs,

Switch and fpurs, or-I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goofe chafe, I am done for thou haft more of the wild-goofe in one of thy wits, than, I am fure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goofe?

Rom. Thou waft never with me for any thing, when thou waft not there for the goofe.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jeft.

Rom. Nay, good goofe, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter fweeting,

It is a most sharp fauce.

Rom. And is it not well ferv'd in to a fweet goofe? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that ftretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.

Rom. 1 ftretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goofe, proves thee far and wide a broad goofe.

then is my pump well flowered.] Here is a vein of wit too thin to be eafily found. The fundamental idea is, that Romeo wore

pinked pumps, that is, pumps punched with holes in figures.

2a wit of cheverel,] Cheverel is foft leather for gloves. E 2 Mer.

Mer. Why, is not this better, than groaning for love? Now thou art fociable; 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 defireft me to ftop in my tale, against

the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldst elfe have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it fhort; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Enter Nurfe, and Peter her Man.

Rom. Here's goodly Geer; a Sail! a Sail!
Mer. Two, two, a Shirt and a Smock.

Nurfe. Peter,

Peter. Anon?

Nurfe. My Fan, Peter.

Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face: for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurfe. God ye good-morrow, gentlemen.

Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurfe. Is it good den?

Mer. 'Tis no lefs, 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 made himfelf to mar.

Nurfe. By my troth, it is well faid. For himself to mar, quotha? 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 when


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