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Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not dance?

Nurfe. I know not.

ful. Go, ask 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 must love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? what's this?
ful. A rhime I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.

Nurse. Anon, anon

[One calls within, Juliet.

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

Enter CHORUS.

Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie,
And young Affection gapes to be his heir:
That Fair, for which love groan'd fore, 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 must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe fuch vows as lovers ufe to fwear; 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 extream sweet.

B 3

[Exit Chorus.

ACT

ACT II.

SCENE, The STREET.

C

Enter Romeo alone.

ROMEO.

AN I go forward when my

heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo.

Mer. He is wife,

[Exit,

And, on my life, hath ftoln him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard-wall.
Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh,
Speak but one Rhime, and I am fatisfied.
Cry but Ah me! couple but love and dove,
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name to her pur-blind son and heir :
(Young Abraham Cupid, he that fhot so true,
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid-
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not,
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rofaline's bright eyes,
By her high fore-head, and her fcarlet lip,
By her fine foot, ftraight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demeafns 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,

Το

To raise a spirit in his miftrefs' circle,

Of fome ftrange 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
To be conforted with the hum'rous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

thefe trees,

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.

SCENE changes to Capulet's Garden.

Rom.

H

Enter Romeo.

E jefts at fears, that never felt a wound-
But, 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 she.
Be not her maid, fince fhe is envious:

Her veftal livery is but fick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; caft it off-
She fpeaks, yet fhe fays nothing; what of that?
Her eye difcourfes; I will answer it

I am too bold, 'tis not to me fhe speaks:
Two of the fairest stars of all the heav'n,
Having fome bufinefs, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres 'till they return.

B 4

What

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would fhame those stars,
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:
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.

Oh, speak again, bright angel! for thou art (6)
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 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?

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thy felf, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nar arm, nor face- nor any other part.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as fweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

(6) 0, speak again, bright Angel! for thou art

[Afide,

As glorious to this night,] Tho' all the printed Copies concur in this Reading, yet the latter part of the Similie seems to require,

As glorious to this Sight;

and therefore I have ventur'd to alter the Text fo. i. e. Thou appear'ft, over my Head, as glorious to my Eyes, as an Angel in the Clouds to Mortals that stare up at him with Admiration.

Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title; Romeo, quit thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all my felf.

Rom. 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 thou, that thus, befcreen'd in night,

So ftumbleft on my counsel ?

Rom. By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:

My name, dear Saint, is hateful to my felf,
Because it is an enemy to thee.

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 Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair Saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'ft thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard-walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, confidering who thou art, any of my kinfmen find thee here.

If

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

For ftony limits cannot hold love out;

And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

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

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Jul. I would not for the world, they faw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes, 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'ft thou out this place? Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes:

B 5

I am

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