Enter Romeo. Romeo. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.Juliet appears above, at a window. But, soft! what light through yonder window It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! [breaks ? Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And rone but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady; 01 it is my love: O, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that? I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: As daylight doth a lamp: her eyes in heaven See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! Jullet. Ah me! Romeo. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy: Romeo. I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Juliet. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in [night, So stumblest on my counsel? Romeo. By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: Had I it written, I would tear the word. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Romeo. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and where- The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; Romeo. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out : And what love can do, that dares love attempt; Juliet. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Juliet. I would not for the world they saw thee here. Romeo. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; And but thou love me, let them find me here: Juliet. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Romeo. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far Juliet. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face: Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay; And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st, 3 F O blessed blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter Juliet, above. Juliet. Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy Re-enter Juliet, above. Hist! Romeo, hist!-O, for a falconer's voice, With repetition of my Romeo's name. Romeo. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: Juliet. Romeo! Romeo. My dear! Juliet. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? Romeo. By the hour of nine. Juliet. I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Romeo. Let me stand here, till thou remember it. Jullet. I shall forget to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. Romeo. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Juliet. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone; Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, Juliet. Romeo. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night: parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night, till it be morrow. [Exit. Romeo. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! SCENE 111. Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. Friar. Exit. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checquering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?- That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. God pardon sin! wert thou with Rosaline? With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Friar. That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? Romeo. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love, then, lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste 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 sit 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, [men. Women may fall, when there's no strength in Romeo. then Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom : the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso ! the hay! — Benvolio. 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 a kitchen-wench;-marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.-Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. O single-soled jest! solely singular for the singleness. Mercutio. Come between us, good Benvolio, for my wits fail. Romeo. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. Mercutio. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wildgoose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five." Was I with you there for the goose? Romeo. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose. Mercutio. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Nay, good goose, bite not. Mercutio. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. Romeo. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? Mercutio. O here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad. Romeo. |