Ti. Why vncle, tis a fhame. Capu. Go too, go too, You are a fawcy boy, ift fo indeed? This tricke may chance to scath you I know what, You must contrary me, marry tis time, Well faid my hearts, you are a princox, goe, Ti. Patience perforce, with willfull choler meeting, Now feeming fweete, conuert to bitter gall. Rɔ. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand, Iu. Good pilgrime you do wrong your hand too much For faints haue hands, that pilgrims hands dce tuch, Ro. Haue not faints lips and holy palmers too? Exit. Ju. Saints doe not moue, though grant for prayers fake. Iu. Then haue my lips the fin that they haue tooke. Giue me my fin againe. Juli. You kiffe bith booke. Nur. Madam your mother craues a word with you. more light, &c. in a parenthefis. did omitted. Rom. Rom. What is her mother? Nurf. Marrie batcheler, Her mother is the lady of the house, Rom. Is the a Capulet? O deare account! my life is my foes debt. all. I thanke you honeft gentlemen, good night : Ile to my rest. Iuli. Come hither nurfe, what is yond gentleman? Iuli. Whats he that now is going out of † 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 afke his name, if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedding bed. Nurf. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely fonne of your great enemie. Iul. My onely loue fprung from my onely hate, Too early feene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of loue it is to mee, That I muft loue a loathed enemie. Nurf. Whats tis? whats tis? t of the lu. A rime I leart euen now Of one I danft withall. One cals within Iuliet. Nurf. Anon, anon : Come lets away, the ftrangers all are gone, Chorus. Now old defire doth in his deathbed lie, And yong affection gapes to be his heire, Exeunt. That faire for which loue gron'de for and would die, A like bewitched by the charme of lookes : And she steale loues fweet bait from fearefull hookes : To breath fuch vowes as louers vse to sweare, And she as much in loue, her meanes much leffe, To meete her new beloued any where : But paffion lends them power, time meanes to meete, Enter Romeo alone. Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here, Turne backe dull earth and find thy center out. Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio. Ben. Romeo, my cozen Romeo, Romeo. Mer. He is wife, and on my life hath stolne 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, paffion louer, Speake but one rime and I am fatisfied : When king Cophetua lou'd the begger maid. By her fine foote, straight leg, and quiuering thigh, Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him. Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him To raise a spirit in his mistresse circle, Of fome strange nature, letting it there ftand Till she had laide it, and coniured it downe, That were fome fpight. My inuocation is faire and honest, and in his mistresse name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these trees To be conforted with the humerous night : Blind is his loue, and beft befits the darke. Mer. If loue be blind, loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he fit vnder a medler tree, And with his mistreffe were that kinde of fruite, As maides call medlers when they laugh alone, ◇ Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou✶ a poprin peare. Come fhall we goe? Ben. Go then, for tis in vaine to feeke him here That meanes not to be found. Ro. He ieafts at fcarres that neuer felt a wound, But foft, what light through yonder windowe breaks? Arife faire fun and kill the enuious moone, Who is already ficke and pale with griefe, That thou her maid art far more faire then fhe: Be not her maid fince fhe is enuious, Her veftal liuery is but ficke and greene, And none but fooles doe weare it, caft it off: Exit. It is my lady, O it is my loue, O that she knew she were, She fpeakes yet fhe fayes nothing, what of that? Her eye difcourfes, I will anfwere it: I am too bold tis not to me fhe fpeakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the heauen, What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightneffe of her cheeke would shame those starres, See how fhe leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke. Iuli. Ay me Rom. She fpeakes. Oh fpeake againe bright angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, * and catera, and thou. As |