« AnteriorContinuar »
Ti. Why vncle, tis a shame.
Capu. Go too, go too,
You are a fawcy boy, ist so indeed ?
This tricke may chance to scath you I know what,
You must contrary me, marry tis time,
Well said my hearts, you are a princox, goe,
Be quiet, or more light, more light for sbame,
Ile make you quiet (what) chearely my hearts.
Ti. Patience perforce, with willfull choler meeting,
Makes my fielh tremble in their different greeting :
I will withdraw but this intrusion Mal
Now seeming sweete, conuert to bitter gall.
Ry. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gentle fin is this,
My lips two blushing pylgrims did I ready stand,
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiffe.
lu. Good pilgrime you do wrong your hand too much
Which mannerly deuotion Mewes in this,
For saints haue hands, that pilgrims hands doe tuch,
And palme to palme is holy palmers kille.
Ro. Haue not saints lips and holy palmers too?
Iuli. I pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer.
Rom. O then deare faint, let lips doe what hands doe,
They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire.
Tu. Saints doe not mone, though grant for prayers fake.
Ro. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take, Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purgd.
lu. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke.
Ro. Sin from my lips, O trespas sweetly vrgd
Giue me my sin againe.
Juli. You kille bith booke.
Nur. Madam your mother craues a word with you.
more ligkı, &c. in a parenthesis.
Rom. What is her mother ?
Nurs. Marrie batcheler,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good ladie, and a wise and vertuous,
I nurst her daughter that you talkt withall :
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall haue the chincks.
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O deare account ! my life is my foes debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.
Rom. I so I feare, the more is my voreft.
Capu. Nay gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish banquet towards :
Is it ene fo? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honeft gentlemen, good night:
More torches here, come on, then lets to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest.
Iuli. Come hither nurse, what is yond gentleman ?
Nurs. The sonne and heire of old Tyberio.
Iuli. Whats he that now is going out of t doore?
Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio.
Iuli, Whats he that follows here that would not dance ?
Nurf. I know not.
Iuli. Go alke his name, if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedding bed.
Nurs. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely sonne of your great enemie.
lul. My onely love sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,
Prodigious birth of loue it is to mee,
That I must loue a loathed enemie.
Nurf. Whats tis? whats tis?
Tu. A rime I leart euen now Of one I daost withall.
Nurf. Anon, anon:
Come lets away, the strangers all are gone,
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
And yong affection gapes to be his heire,
That faire for which loue gron'de for * and would die,
With tender luliet matcht, is now not faire.
Now Romeo is beloued, and loues againe,
A like bewitched by the charme of lookes :
But to his foe suppofde he must complaine,
And she steale loues sweet bait from fearefull tookes :
Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse
To breath such vowes as louers vse to sweare,
And she as much in loue, her meanes much lesse,
To meete her new beloued
where : But passion lends them power, time meanes to meete, Tempring extremities with extreame sweete.
Rom. Can I goe forward when my heart is here, Turne backe dull earth and find thy center out.
Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo, my cozen Romeo, Romco.
Mor. He is wife, and on my life hath ftolne him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall.
Call good Mercutio :
Nay Ile coniure too.
Mer. Romeo, humours, madman, passion louer,
Appeare thou in the likenesse of a figh,
Speake but one rime and I am satisfied :
Cry but ay me, prouaunt, but loue and day, *
Speake to my goship Venus one faire word,
One nickname for † her purblind sonne and her go
Young Abraham : Cupid he that shot so true,
When king Cophetua lou'd the begger maid.
He heareth not, he striueth | not, he moueth not,
The ape is dead, and I must coniure him,
I coniure the by Rosalines bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foote, straight leg, and quiuering thigh,
And the demeanes, that there adiacent lie,
That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs.
Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt
Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistresse circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laide it, and coniured it downe,
That were some spight.
My inuocation is faire and honest, and in his mistresse name,
I coniure onely but to raise up him.
Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these trees
To be consorted with the humerous night :
Blind is his loue, and best befits the darke.
Mer. If loue be blind, loue cannot hit the marke,
Now will he fit vnder a medler tree,
And with his mistresse were that kinde of fruite,
As maides call medlers when they laugh alone,
O Romeo that the were, O that she were
An open, or thou* a poprin peare.
Romeo goodnight Ile to my truccle bed,
This field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe,
Come shall we goe?
Ben. Go then, for tis in vaine to seeke him here
That meanes not to be found.
Exit. Ro. He ieasts at scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder windowe breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sunne. Arise faire fun and kill the enuious moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her maid art far more faire then she: Be not her maid since she is enuious, Her vestal liuery is but ficke and greene, And none bur fooles doe weare it, cast it off : It is my lady, O it is my love, O that she knew she were, She speakes yet she sayes nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answere it : I am too bold tis not to me she speakes : Two of the fairest starres in all the heauen, Hauing some busincs do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie region streame so bright, That birds would sing, and thinke it were not night : See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke.
Juli. Ay me
Rom. She speakes.
Oh speake againe bright angell, for thou art
As glorious to this night being ore my head,
* and catera, and thou.