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Iul. Romeo, Romeo, O for a falkners voice,
Re. It is my soule that calles vpon my name,
Iul. Romeo ?
Iul. I will not faile, tis twentie yeares till then.
Rom. Let me stay here till you remember it.
Iul. I fall forget to haue thee still staie here, Remembring how I loue thy companie.
Rom. And Il'e stay still to haue thee ftill forget,
Iu. Tis almost morning I would haue thee gone,
Rom. Would I were thy bird.
Iul. Sweet so would I,
Rom. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace on thy breast,
Enter frier Francis.
Frier. The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the easterne clouds with streakes of light, And flecked darkenes like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans fierie wheeles : Now ere the funne aduance his burning eye, The world to cheare, and nights darke dew to drie. We must vp fill this oasier cage
Rom. Good morrow to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Benedicite, what earlie tongue so soone faluteth me? Yong fonne it argues a distempered head, So soone to bid good morrow to my bed. Care keepes his watch in cuerie old mans eye, And where care lodgeth, sleep can neuer lie : But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braines Doth couch his limmes, there golden sleepe remaines :
Therefore thy earlines doth me assure,
Ro. The last was true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Ro. With Rosaline my ghostly father no,
Fri. Thats my good sonne: but where hast thou bin then ?
Ro. I tell thee ere thou aske it me againe,
Frier. Be plaine my sonne and homely in thy drift,
Rom. Then plainely know my harts deare loue is set
Fri. Holy S. Francis, what a change is here?
The sunne not yet thy fighes from heauen cleares,
Rom. Thou chidit me oft for louing Rosaline.
Fr. Not in a graue,
grace, and loue for loue allow : The other did not so.
Fr. Oh she knew well Thy loue did read by rote, and could not spell. But come young wauerer, come goe with mee, In one respect Ile thy assistant bee: For this alliaunce may so happie proue, To turne your housholds rancour to pure loue. Exeunt.
Enter Mercutio, Benuolio.
Mer. Why whats become of Romeo ? came he not home to night?
Ben. Not to his fathers, I spake with his man.
Mer. Ah that same pale hard hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Mer. Tybalt, the kinsman of olde Craclet
Mer. I, anie man that can write may answere a letter.
Ben. Nay he will answere the letters master if hee bee chaljenged.
Mer. Who, Romeo? why he is alreadie dead : stabd with a white wenches blacke eye, shot thorough the eare with a loue fong, the verie pinne of his heart cleft with the blinde bowboyes but-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ?
Ben. Why what is Tybalt?
Oh he is the couragious captaine of complements. Catso, he fightes as you sing pricke-long, keepes time dystance and proportion, rests me his minum rest one two and the thirde in your bosome, the very butcher of a filkeo button, a duellist a duellist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause, ah the immortall passado, the punto reuerso, the hay.
Ben. The what?
Me. The poxe of such limping antique affecting fantasticoes these new tuners of accents. By Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whoore. Why graundfir is not this a miserable case that we should be stil afflicted with these strange flies: these fashionmongers, these pardonmees, that stand so much on the new forme, that they cannot fitte at ease on the old bench. Oh their bones, theyr bones.
Ben. Heere comes Romco.
Mer. Without his roe, like a dryed hering. O Refh flesh how art thou filhified. Sirra now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowdin : Laura to his lady was but a kitchin drudg, yet he had a better loue to berime her : Dido a dowdy Cleopatra a gypsie, Hero and Helen hildings and harletries : Thisbie a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo bon jour, there is a French curtefie to your French flop : yee gaue vs the counterfeit fairely yesternight.
Rom. What counterfeit I pray you ?