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 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.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these

trees,

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.
O Romeo! that she were, O, 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?

Ben.

Go, then; for 'tis in vain

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

Rom.

[Scene II. Theobald.]

[Exeunt.

He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? [JULIET appears above at her window.

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,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but pale and green,

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

[JULIET steps out upon a balcony.

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 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 shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp: her eyes 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!

Jul.

Rom.

Ah 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

Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? Jul. '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 face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Rom.

I take thee at thy word.

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;

Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in

night,

So stumblest on my counsel?

Rom.

By a name

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:

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred

words

Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair maid, if either thee displease. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

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'erperch 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 murther 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 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

As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my

face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay;
And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true

Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore, pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant

moon

That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?

Jul.

Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy glorious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

Rom.

If my heart's dear love

Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract to-night:

It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by Summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for
mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou did'st request it ; And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?