Two fuch oppofed foes encamp them ftill
In man, as well as herbs; Grace, and rude Will:
And where the worfer is predominant,
Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good-morrow, father!
Fri. Benedicite!

What early tongue fo fweet falutes mine ear?
Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head,
So foon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth, fleep will never lye;
But where unbruifed youth with unstuft brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign.
Therefore thy carliness doth me affure,
Thou art up-rous'd by fome diftemp'rature;
Or if not fo, then here I hit it right,

Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That laft is true, the fweeter reft was mine.
Fri. God pardon fin! waft thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rofaline, my ghoftly father? no.
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri. That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then?
Rom. I tell thee ere thou ask it me again;

I have been feafting with mine enemy,
Where on a fudden one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfick lyes;
I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for lo
My interceffion likewife fteads my foe.

་་

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift;

Riddling confeffion finds but riddling fhrift.

Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is fet On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;

As mine on hers, fo hers is fet on mine,

And all combin'd, fave what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how

We

We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pafs; but this I pray,
That thou confent to marry us to-day.

Fri. Holy faint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rofaline, whom thou didst love fo dear,
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 wafht thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline?
How much falt water thrown away in wafte,
To feafon love, that of it doth not taste?
The fun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit

Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thy felf, and thefe woes thine,
Thou and there woes were all for Rofaline.

And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength 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, fhe knew well

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

For this alliance may fo happy prove,
To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure Iove.
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.

Fri. Wifely and flow; they stumble that run faft. [Exe.

1

Mer. Here the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he

•WH not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke with his man.
Mer. Why, that fame pale hard-hearted wench, 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 houfe.

Mer. A challenge on my life.
Ben. Romeo will anfwer it.
Mer. Any man that can write,
Ben. Nay, he will anfwer the
dares, being dared.

may anfwer a letter. letter's mafter, how he

Mer. Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'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 butt-fhaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

a

Ben: Why, what is Tybalt? Oh, he's the Mer. More than prince of cats courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick-fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellist, à duellift; a gentleman of the very firft houfe of the firft and fecond cause; 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:

Jefu! a very good

(a) Tybalt was the name given to a Cat of whom some famous acts were related in old ballads: as Grimalkin was another.

good blade! -a a very tall man! a very good whore! -Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we fhould be thus afflicted with thefe ftrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, thefe pardonnez moy's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench, O their bones, their bones !

Enter Romeo.

Ben. 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 berhyme her) Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypfie, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or fo: but now` to the purpofe; Signior Romeo, bonjour! there's a French falutation to your French flop. a

Rom.

(a) to your French flop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly laft night.

Rom. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive?

Rom. Pardon, Mercutio, my business was great, and in fuch a cafe as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy.

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

Rom. Meaning to curtfie.

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 iole of it is worn, the jest may semain 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 spurs,

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

Rom. Good-morrow to you both!

Enter Nurfe and her Man.

Rom. Here's goodly gear: a fail! a fail!
Mer. Two, two, a fhirt and a fmock.
Nurfe. Peter!

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

Nurse. 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? 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 most sharp fawce.

Rom. And is it not well ferv'd in to a fweet goofe?

Mer. O here's a wit of chevril, that stretches from an inch narrow, to an ell broad.

Rom. I ftretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better, than groaning for love?

Now thou art fociable; now art thou Romea; 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 elfe have made thy tale large.

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