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One nick-name to her pur-blind fon and heir: (Young Abraham Cupid, he that fhot so true, 9 When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid-) He heareth not, he ftirreth 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.

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

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among thefe 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 fleep:

Come, fhall we go?

Ben. Go, then, for 'tis in vain

To feek him here that means not to be found.

[Exeunt.

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

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Enter Romeo email on

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

It is the Eaft, 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 the is envious;

Her veftal livery is but fick

and, green, And none but fools do wear it; caft it off

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

O that the knew the were!

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She speaks, yet the fays nothing, what of that ?
Her eye difcourfes; I will anfwer it

I am too bold, 'tis not to me the fpeaks:
Two of the faireft ftars of all the heav'n,
Having fome bufinefs, 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 thofe ftars,
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 fcars, That is, Mercutio jefts, whom he overheard.

2 Be not her maid,] Be not a

votary to the moon, to Diana.
3 It is my lady;-] This line
and halfI have replaced.

See,

See, how the leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. 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 bofom 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 fpeak at this?

ful. '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,

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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 thyself, then nat "a

Montague.

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

Hanmer reads,

Thou'rt not thyfelf so, though ä Montague.

By any other name would smell as fweet.

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, skrytá
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,a baad
Without that title; Romeo, quit thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

of thee,

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Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd,
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

A

Jul. What man art thou, that thus, bescreen'd in night,

So ftumbleft on my counsel?

Rom. By a name

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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. སམ』ན་ནིརྩགཞན
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the found. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montaguè?

Rom. Neither, fair Saint, if either thee diflike.
Jul. How cam't thou hither, tell me, and where-

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fore? The orchard-walls are high, and hard to climb na ni And the place death, confidering who thou art, If any of my kinfinen find thee here.

Rom With love's light wings did I o'er-perch thefe
walls,

For ftony limits cannot hold love out;
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinfmen are no stop to me.

Jul. If they do fee thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their fwords, look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world, they faw thee here.
Rem. I have night's cloak to hide me from their

eyes,

And

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 whofe direction found it thou out this place? Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no Pilot, yet wert thou as far

As that vaft fhore, wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for fuch merchandise.

ful. Thou know'ft, the mask of night is on my face,

Elfe would a maiden-blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou haft heard me fpeak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain, deny
What I have spoke but farewel compliment!
Doft thou love me? I know, thou wilt fay, ay;
And I will take thy word- -yet if thou fwear'st,
Thou may'ft prove falfe; at lovers' perjuries,
They fay, Jove laughs. Oh, gentle Romeo,
If thou doft love, pronounce it faithfully;
Or if you think, I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverfe, and fay thee nay,
So thou wilt wooe; but elfe, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

7

And therefore thou may't think my 'haviour light;
But trust me, Gentleman, I'll prove more true,
Than thofe that have more coying to be ftrange.
I should have been more ftrange, I must confefs,
But that thou over-heard'ft, ere I was 'ware,
My true love's Paffion; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder bleffed moon I vow,
That tips with filver all these fruit-tree tops-

coying to be frange.] For coying, the modern editions have cunning

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Jul.

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