With repetition of my Romeo. Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name; How filver-fweet found lovers' tongues by night, Like fofteft mufic to attending ears! Jul. Romeo! Rom. My fweet! ful. At what o' clock to-morrow Shall I fend to thee? Rom. By 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 fhall forget, to have thee ftill ftand 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, That let's it hop a little from her hand, Yet I fhould kill thee with much cherishing. 1 Good night, good night Parting is fuch fweet forrow, [Exit SCENE HI. Changes to a monaftery. Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the eastern clouds with ftreaks of light: I must fill up this ofier-cage of ours Which baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. None but for fome, and yet all different. Rom. Good morrow, father. What early tongue so sweet faluteth me? Thou art uprous'd by fome diftemp'rature; .. Rom. Rom. With Rofaline, my ghoftly father? no. I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then? Ron I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for, lo, Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeffion finds but riddling thrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; As mine on her's, fo her's is fet on nine; Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Hath wash'd thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline? And art thou change d? pronounce this fentence then, Fri. Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. Rom. Rom. I pray thee, chide not: fhe whom I love now, Doth grace for grace, The other did not fo. and love for love allow : Fri. Oh, the knew well, Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. For this alliance may fo happy prove, To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to the street. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke 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 kinfman to old Capulet, Hath fent a letter to his father's houfe. 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 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-fongs, keeps time, distance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your boiom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellist, a duellist; *Tybalt, the name given to the cat in the ftory-book of Reynold the Fox. a gentleman of the very first houfe, of the first and fecond caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the hay! Ben. The what? Mer. The pox of fuch antic, lifping, affected phantafies, thefe new tuners of accents: Jefu! a very good blade! a very tall man!-a very good "whore !-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire! that we fhould be thus afflicted with thele Atrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, thefe pardonnez moy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench? 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 fishified? Now is he for the num bers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, fhe had a better love to berime her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypiy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibe a grey eye or fo: but now to the purpofe. Signior Romeo, bonjour! there's a French falutation to your French flop. * Rom. Good morrow to you both ! last nigh. Enter to your French flop, you gave us the counterfeit fairly Rom. 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 cafe as mine, a man may train courtesy.. Mer. That's a much as to fay, fuch a cafe as your's conítrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. M aning, to curt'fy, Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it. Rom. A moit 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. Mr. Sure wit-follow me this jeft, now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the fingie fol: of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular. Rom. |