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With repitition of my Roneo.
Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name ;
Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Rom. By the hour of nine.
Jul. I will not fail, 'tis twenty years till then,
Rom. Let me stand here cill thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there ;
Rom. And I'll still stay to have thee ftill forget,
Jul. ''Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone,
And yet no further than a wanton's bird,
Jul. Sweet, fo would I;
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.
I must fill up this osier.ca e of ours
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 ?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no.
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 !
Rom. Thou chid'st ine oft for loving Rosaline,
Fri. Not in a grave,
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,
Rom. ( let us hence, I stand on fudden haste,
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,
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
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
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 !
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 ?
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,
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,