A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please; 't is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone: [Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, For you and I are past our dancing days: 1 CAP. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is not so much: 'T is since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years; and then we mask’d. 2 CAP. "T is more, 't is more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. 1 CAP. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROM. What lady 's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? ROM. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, TYB. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:- To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? 1 CAP. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so? TYB. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. 1 CAP. Young Romeo is 't? TYB. "T is he, that villain Romeo. 1 CAP. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, TYB. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall;—Go to ;— You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my soul- You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYB. Why, uncle, 't is a shame. 1 CAP. Go to, go to, This trick may chance to scath you;—I know what. Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Eart ROM. If I profane with my unworthiest hand [To JULIET, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand JUL. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROM. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JUL. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROM. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JUL. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROM. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her JUL. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROM. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again. JUL. You kiss by the book. NURSE. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. NURSE. Marry, bachelor, And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: ROM. Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse, JUL. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman? NURSE. The son and heir of old Tiberio. JUL. What's he, that now is going out of door? JUL. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance? JUL. Go, ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. NURSE. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; JUL. My only love sprung from my only hate! Of one I danc'd withal. NURSE. A rhyme I learn'd even now [One calls within "Juliet." Anon, anon: Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Enter CHORUS. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; [Exeunt. That fair, for which love groan❜d for, and would die, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved anywhere: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I-An open Place adjoining Capulet's Garden. Enter ROMEO. ROM. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. BEN. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! He is wise; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. BEN. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MER. Nay, I'll conjure too. BEN. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him. BEN. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. MER. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark Now will he sit under a medlar-tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.— Romeo, good night:-I'll to my truckle-bed; |