Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for fhame!-
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion fhall,
Now feeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
[To JULIET.

[Exit.

This holy fhrine, the gentle fine is this—— My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready stand,

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kifs. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion fhews in this; For faints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmer's kifs.

Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too? ful. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they muft ufe in prayer. Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, left faith turn to defpair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers'

fake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayers effect I take. Thus from my lips by yours, my fin is purg'd.

[Kiffing her. Jul. Then have my lips? the fin that they have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trefpafs fweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again.

Jul. You kifs by the book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Rom. What is her mother?

Nurfe. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the houfe,

And a good lady, and a wife, and virtuous :

I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;

C

I tell

I tell you he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is fhe a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the fport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-
Is it e'en fo? Why, then I thank
all;
I thank you, honeft gentlemen; good night-

you

More torches here!-Come on, then let's to bed.
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late;

I'll to my

reft.
[Exeunt
ful. Come hither, nurfe: What is yon gentleman?
Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nürfe. That, as I think, is young Petrucio.

Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not
Nurfe. I know not.

Jul. Go, afk his name

[dance?

if he be married,

My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague;

The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate!
Too early feen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? What's this?
Ful. A rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, JULIET,
Nurfe. Anon, anon :-

Come, let's away; the ftrangers all are gone.

[Exeunt.

Enter

Enter CHORUS.

Now old defire doth on his death-bed lie,

And young affection gapes to be his heir;

That fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe fuppos'd he must complain,

And he fleals love's fweet bait from fearful hooks Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe fuch vows as lovers ufe to fwear;
And he as much in love, her means much lefs
To meet her new-beloved any where :

But paffion lends them power, time means to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme fweet.

[Exit Chorus

ACT II.

SCENE I. The fireet.

Enter ROMEO alone.

Romeo.

CAN I go forward, when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [Exit.

Enter BENVOLIO, with MERCUTIO.

Ben. Romeo! my coufin Romeo !

Mer. He is wife;

And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a figh,

Speak but one rhyme, and I am fatisfied;
Cry but-Ay me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name to her purblind fon and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that fhot fo trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.-
I conjure thee by Rofaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her fcarlet lip,
By her fine foot, ftraight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demefnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

Of fome strange nature, letting it there stand
"Till the had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were fome fpight: my invocation
Is fair and honeft, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself
among
To be conforted with the humorous night:
Blind in his love, and beft befits the dark.

those trees,

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he fit under a medlar tree,

And with his miltfefs were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.-
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed ;

This field-bed is too cold for me to fleep:
Come, fhall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To feek him here, that means not to be found.

SCENE II. CAPULET'S garden.

Enter ROMEO.

[Exeunt.

Rom. He jefts at scars, that never felt a wound.But, foft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the fun!

[JULIET appears above, at a window.
Arife, fair fun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already fick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than fhe:
Be not her maid, fince fhe is envious;
Her vestal livery is but fick and green,

And none but fools do wear it; caft it off..
It is my lady; O, it is my

O, that the knew fhe were !.

love:

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
Her eye difcourfes, I will anfwer it.-

I am too bold, 'tis not to me it speaks:
Two of the faireft ftars in all the heaven,
Having fome bufinefs, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres 'till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would fhame those stars;
As day-light doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region ftream fo bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not night.
See, how the leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek?
C 3

Jul