« AnteriorContinua »
What if her eyes were there, they in her head ?
Jul. Ah me!
Rem. She speaks !
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo ?
[ Aside. Jal. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy: Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor faceWhat's in a name ? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as fweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
(6) O, Speak again, bright Angel! for thou art
As glorious to this Night,] Though all the printed Copies concur in this Reading, yet the latter Part of the Simile seems to require,
As glorious to this Sight; and therefore I have ventured to al:er the Text fo, i. e. Thou appeareit over my Head, as glorious to my Eyes, as an An. gel in the Clouds to Mortals that stare up at him with Admi.. ration,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Rom. I take thee at thy word :
Jul. What man art thou, that thus, bescreen’d in night So stumbleft on my counsel?
Rom. By a name
Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'lt thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? Tae orchard-walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, confidering who thou art,
my kinsmen find thee here. Ro With love's light wings did Io'er-perch these walls, For itony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here.
Rom: I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes, And but thou love me, let them find me here; My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction foundit thou out this place?
Rom. By love, that firft did prompt me to enquire ; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes : I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far
As that vaft shore, walh'd with the fartheft sea,
Jul. Thou know'it, the mask of night is on my face,
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with flver all these fruit-tree tops
Jul. O swear not by the moon, th’inconftant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb; eft that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?
Jul. Do not swear at all;
Rom. If my true heart's love
Jul. Well, do not swear-although I joy in thee,
Ere one can say, it lightens-Sweet, good-night.
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?
mine, before thou didst requeft it : And yet I would, it were to give again. Rom. Wouldft thou withdraw it? for what purpofe,
[Nurse calls within. Anon, good nurse: -Sweet Montague, be true: Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Exit. Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afraid, Being in night, all this is but a dream; Too Hattering-fweet to be fubftantial,
Re-enter Juliet above. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good-night, indeed : If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpofe marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite > And all
fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my love, throughout the world.
[Within: Madam, I come, anon but if thou mean'ft not well, I do befeech thee-[Within: Madam.] By and by, I
To cease thy fuit, and leave me to my grief.
Rom. So thrive
foul, Jul. A thousand times, good-night.
[Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worfe, to want thy light. Love goes tow'rd love, as fchool-boys from their books; But love from love, tow'rds fchool with heavy looks,
Erter Juliet again.
Ron. It is my love that calls upon my name,
Jul. Romeo !
Rom. My sweet! : Jul. Ar what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?
Rom. By the hour of nine.
Ful. I will not fail, 'tis twenty years 'till then I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here 'till thou remember it.
Juł. I shall forget, to have thee ftill stand there ; Reinembring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll ftill stay to have thee ftill forget, Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone, And yet no further than a wanton's bird, That lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would, I were thy bird,
Ful. Sweet, fo would I ; Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Cood-night, good-niglit. Parting is such fweet forrow, That I fall say good-night, 'till it be morrow. [Exit.