Enter JULIET, above. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed : If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose, marriage, send me word to-morrow, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And follow thee, my love, throughout the world.- Jul. I come, anon I do beseech thee -but if thou mean'st not well, Nurse. [Within.] Madam! Jul. By and by, I come To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief. To-morrow will I send. Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Enter JULIET. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falc'ner's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud, And make her angry tongue more hoarse than mine Rom. It is my love, that calls upon my name. How silver sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! Jul. Romeo! Rom. My sweet! Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? Rom. By the hour of nine. Jul. I will not fail-'tis twenty years till thenI have forgot why I did call thee back. Rom. Let me stand here, till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company. Rom. And I'll stay here, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone, And yet not farther than a wanton's bird, That lets it hop a little from her hand, And with a silk thread pulls it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. Rom. I would I were thy bird. Jul. Sweet, so would I ; Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sor row, That I shall say, good night, 'till it be morrow. [Exit. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast; Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! SCENE III. [Exit. A Monastery. Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE, with a Basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light; Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheat, and night's dank dew to dry, With baleful weeds, and precious juiced flowers. In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. For naught so vile, that on the earth doth live, Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Enter ROMEO. Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, Thou art uprous'd by some distemperature. Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again: Where, to the heart's core, one hath wounded me, Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift. set On Juliet, Capulet's fair daughter, As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine: We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vows, Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is this! Hurry thee on, thro' short-liv'd, dear-bought, plea sures, To cureless woes, and lasting penitence. Rom. I pray thee, chide me not; she, whom I love, Doth give me grace for grace, and love for love: Do thou, with Heav'n, smile upon our union; Do not withhold thy benediction from us, But make two hearts, by holy marriage, one. Fri. Well, come, my pupil, go along with me, In one respect, I'll give thee my assistance; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your household rancour, to pure love. Rom. O let us hence, love stands on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Why, that same pale, hardhearted wench, that Juliet, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad, Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father's house. Mer. A challenge, on my life. Ben. Romeo will answer it. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! Mer. Stabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tibalt ? Ben. Why, what is Tibalt? Mer. Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests his minum one, two, and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause; ah the immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hayBen. The what? Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affected, fantasticoes, these new tuners of accents: -Jesu, a very good blade- -a very tall man—a very good whore-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion mongers, these pardonnezmoi's? Ben. Here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen wench; marry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a dowdy: Cleopatra a gipsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. |