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Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for fhame!--
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb.Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw but this intrufion fhall,

Now feeming fweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.
Rom. If I prophane with my unworthy hand
[to JULIET,
This holy fhrine, the gentle fine is this,-
My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready ftand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kifs.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand
too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this ;
For faints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kifs.

Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they muft ufe in

prayer.

Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands

do;

They pray, grant thou, left faith turn to de

fpair.

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for pray

ers' fake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect

I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my fin is purg'd. [Kiffing her. Jul. Then have my lips the fin that they have

took.

'd!

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trefpafs fweetly urg'd Give me my fin again.

Jul.

You kifs by the book.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with

you.

Marry, bachelor,

Rom. What is her mother?

Nurfe.

Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wife, and virtuous :
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ;
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chinks.

Rom.
Is the a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the fport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear; the more is my unreft.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-
Is it e en fo? Why, then I thank you all;
I thank you, honeft gentlemen; good night :-
More torches here!-Come on, then let's to bed.
Ah, firrah, [to 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes late';
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE.
Jul. Come hither, nurfe: What is yon gentleman?
Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

ful. What's he, that now is going out of door? Nurfe. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurfe. I know not.

Jul. Go afk his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague;

The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate!
Too early feen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I muft love a loathed enemy.

Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Jul.

A rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I dane'd withal. [One calls within, JULIET.

Nurfe.

Anon, anon :—

Come, let's away: the ftrangers all are gone.

Enter CHORUS.

[Exeunt.

Now old defire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe fuppos'd he muft complain,
And the fteal love's fweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe fuch vows as lovers use to swear;
And fhe as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new.beloved any where;

But paffion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme fweet. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. An open Place, adjoining Capulet's

Rom, Can I go

Garden,

Enter ROMEO.

forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.

Enter BENVOLIO, and MERCUTIO,

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Mer. He is wife; And, on my life, hath ftolen him home to bed, Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer.

Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a figh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind fon and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that fhot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.-
He heareth not, 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 demefnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

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 ftrange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were fome fpite my invocation

Is fair and honeft, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those

trees,

To be conforted with the humorous night:

Blind is his love, and beft 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,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.—
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This feld 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.

SCENE II.

Capulet's Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. He jefts that fears, that never felt a wound.-[JULIET appears above, at a window.

But foft! what light through yonder window

breaks!

It is the east, and Juliet is the fun!--
Arife, fair fun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already fick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than fhe:
Be not her maid, fince she is envious;

Her veftal livery is but fick and green,

And none but fools do wear it; caft it off.-
It is my lady; O, it is my love:

O, that she knew the were!

She fpeaks, yet fhe fays nothing; What of that?
Her eye difcourfes, I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
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 brightnefs of her cheek would shame those
ftars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region ftream fo bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not night.
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.
Rom.

Ah me!

She fpeaks:

O, fpeak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,

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