Imatges de pÓgina
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Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breaft! 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to reft ! Hence will I to my ghostly Friar's close cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.

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SCENE changes to a Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.
Fri.
THE grey-ey'd

night,
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 fucking on her natural bosom find :
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
0, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.
Nor nought fo 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 sind 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 ftiil
In man, as well as herbs, grace and rr de will:
And where the worfer is predominant,
Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Entes

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good-morrow, father.

Fri, Benedicite ! What early tongue so sweet saluteth 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 eye, And, where care lodgeth, sleep will never lie : But where unbruised youth with unftuft brain Doth coach his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rouz’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 reft was mine. Fri. God pardon fin! wast thou with Rosaline ?

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no. I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri.That's

's my good son: 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, T'hat's by me wounded; both our remedies Within thy help and holy phyfick lies; I bear no hatred, blefed man, for, lo, My interceflion likewise steads my

foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeflion 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 hers, so hers is set on mine ; And all combin'd; fave what thou muít 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 lo dear,

So foon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Feļu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath washt thy fallow cheeks for Rosaline ?
How much falt-water thrown away in wafte,
To feafon fove, 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 stain doth fit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rofaline.
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'Ã me bury love.

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

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

for

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

Fri. Oh, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
Bat come, young waverer, come and go with me,
ka one respect Pil thy affiftant be :
For this alliance may fo happy prove,
To turn your houshold-sancour to pure love.

Rom. O ler us hence, I fand on fudden hatte.
Fri. Wisely and flow; they ftumble, that run faft.

Exeunt.

SCEN E changes to the STREET,

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Dler.

Here the devil should this Romeo be ? came

he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's,, 1 spoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame pate, hard-hearted, wench, that

Rojaline,

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Rosaline, torments him so, that he will, sure, run mad.

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

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb’d with 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 fing prick’d-songs, keeps time, distance, and proportion ; rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the

very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house, of the firft 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 “ whore !”Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with these ftrange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moy's, who itand so much on the new form that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench : 0, their bon's, their lon's! (7)

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(7) 0, their bones ! ibeir bones!) Mercurio 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 Ecstasies with every Trifle : as he has just described them

gre. Is Rojo Jesu! a very good oladi ! &c.

Enter Enter Romeo.

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Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his coe, like a dried herring. Oflesh, feth, how art thou fiihified ? 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: Thisbé 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 slip: 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. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous expofition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower-
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mer. Sure wit-follow me this jeit, now, till thou hast 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,
Solely fingular, for the singlenefs !

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints.

Rom. Switch and spurs,
Switch and spurs, or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chafe, 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 ?

Rom.

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