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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 Rofaline?
How much falt-water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not tafte?
The Sun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my antient ears :
Lo, here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit
Of an old tear, that is not wafh'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thy felf, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rofaline.
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no ftrength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'ft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, 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 not: fhe, whom I love now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow :

The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh, the knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not fpell.
But come, young waverer, come and go with me,
In one refpect I'll thy affiftant be:

For this alliance may so happy prove,

To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love.

Rom. Olet us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.
Fri. Wifely and flow; they ftumble, that run fast.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the STREET.

Mer. W

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

HERE 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

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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 answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will anfwer 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 couragious 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 bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the, hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of fuch antick, lifping, affected phantafies, these new tuners of accents:

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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 these ftrange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnezmoy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench? O, their bon's, their bon's ! (7)

Enter

(7) 0, their bones! their bones!] Mercutio is here ridicu ling thofe frenchified fantastical Coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moy's: and therefore, I fufpect, here he meant to write French too.

O, their bon's! their bon's!

i. e. How

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers 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 gipfie, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thisbé a grey eye or fo, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French Slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good morrow to you Both: What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my bufinefs was great; and, in fuch a case as mine, a man may ftrain conrtefy.

Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning, to curt'fie.

Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it.

Rom. A moft courteous expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtefie.
Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.
Mer. Sure wit

follow me this jeft, now, till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the fingle fole of it is worn, the jett may remain, after the wearing, folely-fingular.

Rom. O fingle-fol'd jeft,

Solely fingular, for the fingleness!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints, Rom. Switch and fpurs,

i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out Good, and being in Ecstasies with every Trifle: as he has just defcrib'd them before,

·Jesu! a very good blade ! &c.

Switch and fpurs, or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goofe chafe, I am done for thou haft more of the wild-goofe in one of thy wits, than, I am fure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goofe?

Rom. Thou waft never with me for any thing, when thou waft not there for the goofe.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jeft.
Rom. Nay, good goofe, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter fweeting,
It is a moft fharp fawce.

Rom. And is it not well ferv'd in to a sweet goofe? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that ftretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.

Rom. I ftretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goofe, proves thee far and wide a broad goofe. Mer. Why, is not this better, than groaning for love? Now thou art fociable; now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art, as well as by nature; for this driveling love is like a great Natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, ftop there.

Mer. Thou defireft me to ftop in my tale, against the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it fhort; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Enter Nurfe, and Peter her Man.

Rom. Here's goodly Geer: a Sayle! a Sayle!
Mer. Two, two, a Shirt and a Smock.

Nurfe. Peter,

Peter. Anon ?

Nurse. My Fan, Peter.

Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's

the fairer of the two.

Nurfe. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurfe. Is it good den ?

Mer.

Mer. 'Tis no lefs, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurfe. Out upon you! what a man are you?

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made, himfelf to mar.

Nurfe. By my troth, it is well faid: for himself to mar, quotha? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo.

Rom. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you fought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

Nurfe. You fay well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well?

Very well took, i'faith, wifely, wifely.
Nurfe. If you be he, Sir,

I defire fome confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to fome fupper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd. So ho!

Rom. What haft thou found ?

Mer. No hare, Sir, unlefs a hare, Sir, in a lenten pye, that is fomething ftale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar, is very good meat in Lent.

But a hare, that is hoar, is too much for a fcore, when it hoars ere it be spent.

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to din. ner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewel, antient lady:

Farewel, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio. Nurfe. I pray you, Sir, what faucy merchant was this, that was fo full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurfe, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand

to in a month.

Nurfe. An a fpeak any thing against me, I'll take him down an' he were luftier than he is, and twenty fuch Jacks: and if I cannot, I'll find thofe that fhall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his

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