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Enter BenvoLIO, with MERCUTIO. Ben. Romeo, my cousin Romeo.
Mer. He is wise, 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 ! humour! madman ! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfy'd. Cry but ah me! couple but love and dove, I conjure thee, by thy mistress's bright eyes, By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip: By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: My invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise him up. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself amongst these
trees, To be consorted with the hum'rous night.
Mer. Romeo, good night; I'll to my truckle bed, This field bed is too cold for me to sleep : Come, shall we go?
Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound-
But soft, what light thro' yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
It is my lady-Oh, it is my love!
Oh that she knew she were !
JULIET appears above, at a Window.
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.
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
I will answer it;
I am too bold-Oh, were those eyes in Heav'n,
They'd through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were the morn:
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. Ah me!
Pom. She speaks, she speaks !
Oh, speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger from Heav'n,
To the upturned wond’ring eyes of mortals
When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Jul. 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?
(Aside. Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy? 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 callid, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title; Romeo, quit 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, I will forswear my name, And never more be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in
So stumblest on my counsel ?
Rom. 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.
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk an hundred
Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ?
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease.
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and for
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb,
And the place death, consid'ring who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these
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, Then 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.
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 merchandize.
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my
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.--Oh, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or, if thou think I am too quickly won,
I'll 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 overheard'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 moun, I vow,
That tips with silver all these tree tops
Jul. O swear not by the moon, the inconstant
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 gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my true heart's 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, that 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 didst request it ; And yet I would it were to give again.
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what pur
Jul, But, to be frank, and give it thee again.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love, as deep ;-—the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within ;-dear love, adieu !
Nurse. (Calls within.] Madam!
Jul. Anon, good Nurse-Sweet Montague, be
Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Erit. Řom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afraid, Being in night, all this is but a dream ! Too flattering sweet to be substantial.