« AnteriorContinua »
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breaft!
SCENE changes to a Monastery.
Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket. Fri. HE grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning Check’ring the eastern 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 sun, advance his burning eye, The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry, I must fill up this ofier-cage of ours With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb; And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find : Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. Nor nought so vile, that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give : Nor aught fo good, but, ftrain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice, being mifapplied; And vice sometime by action's dignify'd. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and med'cine power : For this being smelt, with that sense chears each part; Being tafted, says all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them ftil In man, as well as herbs, grace and rede will : And where the worfer is predominant, Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo. Rom. Good-morrow, father.
Fri. Benedicite !
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no.
Fri.That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then?
Rom. Pll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again ;. I have been feasting 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 lies; I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for, lo, My interceflion likewise fteads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet ; As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; And all combin'd; fave what thou must combine By holy marriage: When, and where, and how, We met, we woo'd, and made exhange 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 didst love to dear,
So foon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Rom. Thou chidd'It me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. Not in a grave,
Rom. I pray thee, chide not : fhe, whom I love now, Doth grace
and love for love allow : The other did not fo.
Fri. Oh, the knew well,
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.
SCENE changes to the STREET,
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
he not home to-nig het ? Ben. Not to his father's, 1 jpoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame gate, hard-hearted, Wench, that
Rosaline, torments him so, that he will, sure, run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dar'd.
Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb’d wi a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's, but-shaft; 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 sing prick’d-songs, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your the very
butcher of a silk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and fecond cause; ah, the immortal passada, the punto reverso, the, hay !
Ben. The what?
Mer. The pox of such antick, lisping, affected phantafies, these new tuners of accents :
Jesu! a very good blade :
-a very tall man ! a very good 66 whore !” Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thụs afflicted with these ftrange 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 lon's! (7)
(7) 0, their bones ! ibeir bones!) Mercutio is here ridiculing those frenchified fantastical Coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moy's: and therefore, I suspect, here he meant to write French too.
O, their bon's ! their bon's. i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out Good, and being in Ecstafies with every Trifle : as he has just described them before. -Jesu ! a very good oladi! &c.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. Ofesh, fleth, how art thou fihified ? 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-rhyme her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots : Tbifbé a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour ; there's a French falutation to your French flop. 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 business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
Rom. Meaning, to curt'sy.
Mer. Sure wit-follow me this jest, now, till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, solely fingular.
Rom. O fingle-fol'd jeft,
Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints.
Rom. Switch and spurs,
Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done: for thou haft more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose ?