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or six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and others.
Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our

Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone,
Rom. Give me a torch,-I am not for this am-

Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes,
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead,
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore empierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in.

(Putting on a mask.)
A visor for a visor!—what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.

I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.


In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her waggon-spokes made of long-spinners' legs;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams:
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of
On courtiers' knees, that dream on courtes
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on lens,
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plages,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tl,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign threats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wake;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two.
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the bag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to beat,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, this is she-

Thou talk'st of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams:
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who woDes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from on

Peace, peace, Mercutio, pear


Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgive a
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail!-On, lusty geutlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.


SCENE V-A Hall in Capulet's House.
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps no take away? he shift a trencher! he scrap trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in or two men's hands, and they unwashed too,

And so did I. foul thing.

Rom. Well, what was your's?
Mer. That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things


1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove "s court-cupboard, look to the plate :-good t save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thoa le [, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, Nell. Antony! and Potpan!

Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there, too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. (They retire behind.) Enter CAPULET, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers.

Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:-
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she, that makes dainty, she,
I'll swear hath corns; Am I come near you now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day,
That I have worn a visor; and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis

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[play. You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians, A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls. (Music plays, and they dance.) More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now, since last yourself and I Were in a mask?

2 Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir ; His son is thirty.

1 Cap.


Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shews.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antick face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't? Tyb. "Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not, for the wealth of all this town, Here in my house, do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which if thou respect, Shew a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him.

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd: What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall;-Goto;

Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my soul-
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
1 Cap.
Go to, go to,
You are a saucy boy:-Is't so, indeed?-
This trick may chance to scathe you ;-I know what
You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts :-You are a princox; go-
Be quiet, or More light, more light, for shame!-
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler


Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit,
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
(To Juliet.)
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,-
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too

Which mannerly devotion shews in this; For saints have hands, that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in prayer dear saint, let lips do what hands [do; Rom. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. [sake.

Jul. Saints do not move, though,grant for prayers Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect

I take.

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Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise, 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 she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone: We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.— Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all:

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:More torches here! Come on, then let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, (To 2 Cap.) by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman ? Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

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

Nurse. I know not.

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

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; The only son of your great enemy.

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

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Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
(He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.)
Enter BENVOLIO and MERcutio.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.-
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.-
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.-
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,

But, soft! what light through yonder window

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; O, it is my love:

O, that she knew she were!-

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
That birds would sing, and think it were not magik
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!


Ah me!
She speaks:-
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.


Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Ro
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Ron. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;-
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that, which we call a rese,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name;

By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And for that name, which is no part of thee,

And the demesnes 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 some strange nature, letting it there stand,
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those
To be consorted with the humourous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will be sit under a medlar tree,
And wish 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 field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here, that means not to be found.

SCENE II.-Capulet's Garden.
Enter ROMEO.


Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. (Juliet appears above, at a window.)

Take all myself.

I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thon, that, thus bescreen
in night,

So stumblest on my counsel?


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 ward 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

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-perc
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 thes

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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.

[sight; Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their 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? [quire; Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inHe 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
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, faín deny
What I have spoke; bat farewell compliment!
Dost love me? I know, thou wilt say-Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove falsé; 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 overheard'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


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If my heart's dear loveJul. 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. [it: Jul. I gave thee mine before thou did'st request And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, 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.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.
Nurse. (Within.) Madam!

[well, Jul. I come, anon:-But if thou mean'st not I do beseech thee,

Nurse. (Within.) Madam!

By and by, I come :-
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
So thrive my soul,-
Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit.
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
(Retiring slowly.)

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Jul. I will not fail;

At what o'clock to-morrow

At the hour of nine.
'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
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


That I shall say-good night, till it be morrow.


Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy

'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.
SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter Friar LAURENCE, with a basket.
Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

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,
[Exit.I must up-fill this osier cage of ours,

(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.

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

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

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!


Fri. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOur Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

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 physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. [drift; Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: [is set 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

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.


Not in a grave

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To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I lost
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
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

SCENE IV-A Street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his ma Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

Torments him so, that he will sure ruu 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.

[a letter Mer. Any man, that can write, may answe 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; sht through the ear with a love-song; the very pin 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 yo He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, dis O, he is the courageous captain of compliments tance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest. butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very gentleman of the very first house,—of the first ap second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! punto reverso! the hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! A good whore! Why, is not this a lamentable thin Jesu, a very good blade!—a very tall man!—asty grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted wit pardonnez-moy's, who stand so much on the nes these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, then i form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench O, their bons, their bons!

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 ish: for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, t his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, she bad a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gati us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. Good-morrow to you both. terfeit did I give you?

What com [ceive

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not com Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business ww great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to say-such a case yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning-to court'sy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

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