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With repitition of my Roneo.

Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name ;
How Gilver-sweet found lover's tongues by night,
Like foftest music to attending ears !

Jul. Romeo!
Rom. My sweet !

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send 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 stand here cill 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 ftill forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. ''Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone,

And yet no further than a wanton's bird,
" That lets it hop a little from her hand,
'Like a poor prisoner in his twisted

gyves,
• And with a filk.thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would I were thy bird.

Jul. Sweet, fo would I;
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night. Parting is such iweet forrow,
That I shall lay good night till it be morrow. [Exit.

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to relt !
Hence will I to my ghoftly Friar's close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit,
SCE N E 111. - Changes to a monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.
Fri. The grey.ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

night,
Check’ring the eaftern clouds with streaks of light:
And darkness flecker'd, like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels..
Now ere the fun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,

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I must fill up this osier.ca e of ours
With baleful weeds, and precious juiced flowers,
The earth, that's Nature's motber, 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 some, and yet all different.
0, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
lu plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities,
Nor vought fo vile that on the earth doch 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 itlelf turns vice, being misapplied ;
And vice fometime by action's dignified,
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and medic'nal power:
For this being smelt, with that sense cheers each part ;
Being tafted, stays all senses with the heart.
Two such oppoled kin incamp them ftill
In man, as well as herbs, grace and rude will:
And where the worser is predominant,
Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.
Rom. Good morrow, father.

Fri. Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet faluteth me? Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : Care keeps his watch in every old man's ese, And where care lodgeth, sleep will never lie; But where udbruifed youth with unsuft brain Doth couch his linebs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earlinefs doth me assure, Thou art uprous’d by some distemp'rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night,

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine, Fri. God pardon sin! wait thou with Rofaline ?

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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 halt 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.

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confellion finds but riddling fhrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set: On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; As mine on her's, so her's 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 didft love so dear,
So foon forsaken? young mens' love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy fallow cheeks for Rosaline ?
How much salt water thrown away in wafe,
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 fit
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 thien,,
Women may fall, when there's no streagth in men.

Rom. Thou chid'st ine oft for loving Rosaline,
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine,
Rom. And bad'it me bury love.

Fri. Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have:

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she whom I love now, Doth

grace for grace, and love for love allow : The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, and go with me,
In one respect l'll thy aslistance be!
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your houshold rancour to pure love.

Rom. ( let us hence, I stand on fudden haste,
Fri. Wifely and flow; they stumble that run falt.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Changes to the fireet.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where the devil should this Romneo be ? came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I spoke with his man.

Mer. Why, that same pale, hard-hearted wench, that Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will sure, run mad,

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Hath rent 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 aniwer the letter's master, how he dares, being dar'd.

Mer, Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! fabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-foug; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-thatt; and is he a man to en, counter Tybalt ?

Ben, Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats * !--Oh he's the courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick-fongs, skeeps time, distance, and proportion ; seits his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom ; the very

butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; Tybalt, the name given to the cat in the story book of Reynold

the fox.

a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and se. cond cause; ah, the immortal passado, the punto re. verso, the hay !

Ben. The what ?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lifping, affected phantasies, these new tuners of accents ;

-- Jesu! a very good blade!

- a very tall man! a very good whore ! Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire ! that we should be thus afflicted with these Arange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez moy's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench? O, their bon's, their bon's !

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 is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench ; marry, she had a better love to be. rime her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy, Helen and Hero, hildings and barlots : Thisbe a grey eye or fo: but now to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour ! there's a French falutation to your French flop.

Rom. Good morrow to you both!

to your French flop. You gave us the counterfeit fair. ly last night.

Rom. What counterfeit did I give you ?
Mer. The slip, Sir, the Nip: can you not conceive?

Rom. Pardon, good Mercució, my business was great ; and, in fuch a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Mer, That's as much as to say, fuch a cafe as your's constrains a man to bow in the hams,

Rom. Meaning, to curt'iy,
Mr. Thou hast most kindly hit it,
Rom. A most courteous expofition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of coartefy.
Rom. Pink for flower..
Mer Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well Power'd.

Mer. Sure wit follow me this jelt, now, till thon haft wors out thy pump, that when the single fole of it is woro, the jeit may remain, after the wearing, solely fingular,

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