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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.

I hear fome Noife within; dear Love adieu.

Anon, good Nurfe

[Nurfe calls within,

Sweet Mountague be true:

Stay but a little, I will come again.
Rom. O bleffed, bleffed Night, I am afraid,

Being in Night, all this is but a Dream,

Too flattering fweet to be fubftantial.

Re-enter Juliet above.

Jul. Three Words, dear Romeo,
And good Night indeed.

If that thy bent of Love be Honourable,
Thy purpose Marriage, fend 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.

I come, anon

[Exit.

[Within: Madam,

-but if thou meaneft not well,

I do beseech thee

By and by, I come

To Morrow will I fend.

[Within: Madam.

To cease thy Strife, and leave me to my Grief.

Rem. So thrive my Soul,

Jul. A thoufand times good Night.

[Exit.

Rom. A thoufand times the worfe to want thy light,

Love goes toward Love, as School-boys from their Books, But Love from Love, towards School with heavy Looks, Enter Juliet again.

Jul. Hift! Romeo, hift! O for a Falkner's Voice, To lure this Taffel gently back again.

Bondage is hoarfe and may not fpeak aloud,

Elle would I tear the Cave where Eccho lyes,

And make her airy Tongue more hoarfe Then with

The repetition of my Romeo

Rom. It is my Soul that calls upon my Name. How filver-fweet found Lovers Tongues by Night, Like fofteft Mufick to attending Ears.

Jul.

Jul. Romeo.

Rom. My Sweet.

Jul. What a 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 ftand here 'till thou remember it. Jul. I fhall forget, to have thee ftill ftand there, Remembring how I love thy Company.

Rom. And I'll ftill ftay to have thee ftill forget,
Forgetting any other Name but this.

Jul. 'Tis almoft Morning, I would have thee gone.
And yet no further than a wanton's Bird,
That lets it hop a little from his Hand,
Like a poor Prisoner in his twisted Gyves,
And with a filken thread plucks it again,
So loving jealous of his Liberty.
Rom. I would I were thy Bird.
Jul. Sweet, fo would I,

Yet I fhould kill thee with much cherishing:
Good Night, good Night.

Rom. Parting is fuch fweet Sorrow,

That I fhall fay Good Night 'till it be Morrow.

Jul. Sleep dwell upon thine Eyes, peace in thy Breaft, Would I were Sleep and Peace, fo fweet to Reft.

[Exit. Rom. The gray-ey'd Morn fmiles on the frowning Night, Check'ring the Eastern Clouds with ftreaks of Light, And Darkness fleckell'd like a Drunkard reels, From forth Days path-way, made by Titan's Wheels. Hence will I to my Ghoftly Friar's close Cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

SCENE IV. A Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a Basket:

Fri. Now e'er the Sun advance his burning Eye, The Day to chear, and Night's dank Dew to dry, I must up-fill this Ofier Cage of ours,

[Exit.

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 fucking on her natural Bofom find:
Many for many Virtues Excellent,
None but for fome, and yet all different.
O mickle is the powerful Grace, that lies
In Plants, Herbs, Stones, and their true Qualities:
For nought fo vile, that on the Earth doth live,
But to the Earth fome fpecial good doth give.
Nor ought fo good, but ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true Birth, ftumbling on abuse;
Virtue it felf turns Vice, being mifapplied.
And Vice fometime by Action dignified.
Enter Romeo.

Within the infant Rind of this weak Flower,
Poifon hath refidence, and Medicine Power:
For this being smelt, with that part chears each part;
Being tafted, flays all Senfes, with the Heart.
Two fuch oppofed Kings encamp them ftill,
In Man, as well as Herbs, Grace and rude Will:
And where the worfer is predominant,

Full foon the Canker Death cats up that Plant.
Rom. Good morrow, Father.

Fri. Benedicite.

What early Tongue fo fweet falutes mine Ear?
Young Son, it argues a diftemper'd Head,
So foon to bid good morrow to thy Bed;
Care keeps his watch in every old Man's Eye,
And where Care lodgeth, Sleep will never lye;
But where unbruifed Youth, with unftuft Brain,
Doth couch his Limbs, there golden Sleep doth raign;
Therefore, thy earlinefs doth me affure,
Thou art up-rouz'd with fome diftemperature;
Or if not fo, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in Bed to Night.

Rom. That laft is true, the sweeter Reft was mine. Fri. God pardon Sin; waft thou with Rofaline? Rom. With Rofaline, my Ghoftly Father? No. I have forgot that Name, and that Name's Woe. Fri. That's my good Son: but where haft thou been then?

Rom

Rom. I'll tell thee e'er thou ask it me again;
I have been feasting with mine Enemy,
Where on a fudden one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our Remedies
Within thy help and holy Phyfick lies;
I bear no hatred, Bleffed Man, for lo
My interceffion likewife fteads my Foe.

Fri. Be plain, good Son, reft homely in thy drift,
Ridling confeffion finds but ridling fhrift.

Rom. Then plainly know my Heart's dear Love is fet On the fair Daughter of rich Capulet;

As mine on hers, fo hers is fet on mine;

And all combin'd, fave 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 pafs, but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to Day.

Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a Change is here?
Is Rofaline, that thou didst love fo dear,
So foon forfaken? young Mens Love then lyes
Not truly in their Hearts, but in their Eyes.
Jefu Maria, what a deal of Brine

Hath washt thy fallow Cheeks for Refaline?
How much falt Water thrown away in wafte,
To feafon Love, that of it doth not taste?
The Sun not yet thy Sighs from Heaven clears,
Thy old Groans yet ring in my ancient Ears;
Lo here upon thy Cheek the Stain doth fit,
Of an old Tear that is not wafht off yet.

If e'er thou waft thy felf, and these Woes thine,
Thou and thefe Woes were all for Rofaline.
And art thou chang'd? Pronounce this Sentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no Strength in Men.
Rom. Thou chidd'ft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doting, 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 me not, her I love now Doth Grace for Grace, and Love for Love allow

The

The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh fhe knew well,

Thy Love did read by Rote, that could not spell;
But come young Waverer, come 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.

SCENE

V. The Street.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

[Exeunt.

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 House.

Mer. A Challenge on my Life:

Ben. Romeo will anfwer it.

Mer. Any Man that can write, may anfwer a Letter. Ben. Nay he will answer the Letter's Mafter how he dares, being dared.

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-shaft; and is he a Man to Encounter Ty

balt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than Prince of Cats. Oh he's the Couragi ous Captain of Compliments; he fights as you fing prickfongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; he 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 House of the first and fecond Caufe; Ah the immortal Paffado, the Punto reverfo, the Hay Ben. The what?

Mer. The Pox of fuch antique lifping affecting Phantafies, these new turners of Accent Jefu, a very good blade,

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