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I CIT. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and LADY CAPULET. CAP. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho!

LA. CAP. A crutch, a crutch !-why call you for a sword?

CAP. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. MON. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.

LA. MON. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

Enter PRINCE with Attendants.

PRIN. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,Will they not hear?-what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins,On pain of torture from those bloody hands Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince.Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets; And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming orna

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Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

LA. MON. O, where is Romeo!-saw you him today?

Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

BEN. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from this city's side,So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood; I, measuring his affections by my own,That most are busied when they are most alone,Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

MON. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs. But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,

And makes himself an artificial night :
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
BEN. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MON. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
BEN. Have you impórtun'd him by any means?
MON. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself-I will not say, how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO, at a distance.

BEN. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Is the day so young?

MON. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. BEN. Good morrow, cousin. ROM. BEN. But new struck nine. ROM. Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BEN. It was.-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

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ROM. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

BEN. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. ROM. A right good mark-man -And she's fair I love.

BEN. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROM. Well, in that hit, you miss; she 'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold; O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. BEN. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

ROM. She hath, and in that sparing
makes huge waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise; wisely too

To merit bliss by making me despair :
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that

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ROM. Out of her favour, where I am in love. BEN. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROM. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me !-What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to-do with hate, but more with love :Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first created;

O heavy lightness! serious vanity!

Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

BEN. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and SERVANT. CAP. But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

PAR. Of honourable reckoning are you both, And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAP. But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world, She hath not seen the change of fourteen years

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Let two more summers wither in their pride,

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

No, coz, I rather weep.
ROM. Good heart, at what?
At thy good heart's oppression.
ROM. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

PAR. Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAP. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

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May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, [to Serv.] trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper] and
to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
SERV. Find them out, whose names are written
here? It is written-that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the
fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets;
but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are
here writ, and can never find what names the writing
person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In
good time-


BEN. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish :

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

ROM. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
BEN. For what, I pray thee?


For your broken shin.

BEN. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

ROM. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: Shut

up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp'd, and tormented, and-God den, good fellow. SERV. God ye good den.-I pray, sir, can you read?

ROм. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

SERV. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you see?

ROM. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.
SERV. Ye say honestly; rest you merry!
ROм. Stay, fellow; I can read.


SIGNIOR MARTINO, and his wife, and daughter; COUNTY ANSELME, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of VITRUVIO; SIGNIOR PLACENTIO, and his lovely nieces; MERCUTIO, and his brother VALENTINE; mine uncle CAPULET, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece ROSALINE; LIVIA; SIGNIOR VALENTIO, and his cousin TYBALT; LUCIO, and the lively HELENA.

With all the admired beauties of Verona:

Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan

a crow.

ROM. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires!

And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

One fairer than my love! the allseeing sun

Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

BEN. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either


But in that crystal scales, let there be weigh'd

Your lady's love against some other maid

That I will show you, shining at this feast,

And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

ROM. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.


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JUL. What is your will?


LA. CAP. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile,

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel.
Thou knowest, my daughter's of a pretty age.
NURSE. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
LA. CAP. She's not fourteen.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,-
She's not fourteen: how long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

A fortnight, and odd days.. NURSE. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!--were of an age:-Well, Susan is with God; she was too good for me: but, as I said, on Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; that shall she; marry, I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; and she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,-of all the days of the year, upon that day: for I had then laid wormwood to my dug, sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall. My lord and you were then at Mantua :-nay, I do bear a brain:-but, as I said, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! to see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years, for then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, she could have run and waddled all about. For even the day before, she broke her brow: and then my husband-God be with his soul! 'a was a merry man;-took up the child; Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and said-Ay: to see now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it; wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: and, pretty fool, it stinted, and said-Ay.

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To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
And yet, I warrant, it had upon it brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A par'lous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-Ay.
JUL. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
NURSE. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

LA. CAP. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of: tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
JUL. It is an honour that I dream not of.
NURSE. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
LA. CAP. Well, think of marriage now; younger
than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers: by my count,

I was your mother much upon these years

That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief ;-
The valiant Paris seeks you for

his love.

NURSE. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,

As all the world-why, he's a man of wax.

LA. CAP. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. NURSE. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LA. CAP. What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast:

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,

And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;

Examine every married linea

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LA. CAP. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JUL. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

SERV. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LA. CAP. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays. NURSE. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.--A Street.

ROM. I dreamt a dream to-night.

ROM. Well, what was yours?

And so did I.

Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance;
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
ROM. Give me a torch,-I am not for this amb- She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes

Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

MER. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
ROM. Not I, believe me; you have dancing shoes,
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead,
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.
MER. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

ROM. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe;
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

MER. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.

ROM. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. MER. If love be rough with you, be rough with love;

Give me a case to put my visage in.

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in ;

[Putting on a mask.

A visor for a visor! what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
BEN. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
ROM. A torch for me; let wantons, light of heart,
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
MER. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own

If thou art dun, we 'll draw thee from the mire,
Or (save your reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears: come, we burn day-light, ho.
ROM. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
ROM. What, shall this speech be spoke for our Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six other Maskers, and Torch-bearers.

Or shall we on without apology?

BEN. The date is out of such prolixity:

We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,

Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
ROM. And we mean well in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.


Why, may one ask?

That dreamers often lie. ROM. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true. MER. O then, I see queen Mab hath been with you. In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces, of the smallest spider's web; Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:

And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,

Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,

Then dreams he of another


Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

And then dreams he of cutting

foreign throats,

breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon

Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;

And, being thus frighted, swears

a prayer or two,

And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,

That plats the manes of horses in the night;

And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,

Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.

This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

That presses them, and learns
them first to bear,

Making them women of good carriage.
This is she-
ROM. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'st of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,

And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes

Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
BEN. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our-

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

ROM. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail!-On, lusty gentlemen.
BEN. Strike, drum.


SCENEV.-A Hall in Capulet's House. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

I SERV. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 SERV. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

I SERV. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:-good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 SERV. Ay, boy; ready.

I SERV. You are look'd for, and call'd for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 SERV. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind.

Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests, and the Maskers.

I CAP. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their toes Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:

Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,

She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?

Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:

You are welcome, gentlemen!--Come, musicians, play.

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Music plays, and they dance. More light, you knaves, and turn the tables up,

And quench the fire, the room is grown

too hot.

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His son was but a ward

two years ago.

ROM. What lady's that which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

SERV. I know not, sir.

ROM. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

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Now, by the stock and honour of my



To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. I CAP. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so?

TYB. Uncle, this is a Montague, our

A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
I CAP. Young Romeo is 't?
TYB. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
I CAP. Content thee, gentle coz, let
him alone,

He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd

I would not for the wealth of all this town,

Here in my house, do him dispatage

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lips, and holy palmers too?

JUL. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROM. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JUL. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.


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I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night :-
More torches here !-come on, then let 's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, [to 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.

[Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse. JUL. Come hither, nurse: what is yon gentleman?

NURSE. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
JUL. What's he, that now is going out of door?
NURSE. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
JUL. What's he, that follows there, that would
not dance?

NURSE. I know not.

JUL. Go, ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. NURSE. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.

JUL. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. NURSE. What 's this? what's this?

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[One calls within, JULIET. Anon, anon:


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

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, for which love groan'd for, 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 suppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less, To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

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The apeis dead, and I must conjure him.

I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,

By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,

By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,

And the demesnes 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: t'would anger him

To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;

That were some spite: my invocation

Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,

I conjure only but to raise up him.


| But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!! And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,

ROM. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall.

That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; O, it is my love;

O, that she knew she were !

She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

BEN. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

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

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.-
Oh Romeo that she were, oh that she were,

An open et cætera, thou, a poprin pear!
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?


Go, then, for 'tis in vain

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As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!


Ay me!

She speaks:O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JUL. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,


JUL. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Mon

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Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
JUL. What man art thou, that,
thus bescreen'd in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?

I know not how to tell thee who I am:

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;

By a name

Had I it written, I would tear the word.
JUL. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

ROM. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
JUL. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and where-

The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

ROM. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,

For stony 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


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 found'st thou out this place?

ROM. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot, yet, wert thou as far

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