Anon, good nurse Sweet Mountague be true:
Stay but a little, I will come again.

Rom. O bleffed, bleffed night. I am afraid
All this is but a dream I hear and fee;

Too flattering sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter Juliet above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed:
If that thy bent of love be honourable,

Thy purpose marriage, fend me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my love, throughout the world.

I come, anon ----- but if thou mean'ft not well,

[Exit.

[Within: Madam.

I do beseech thee -----[Within: Madam.] By and by I come
To cease thy fuit, and leave me to my grief.
To-morrow will I fend.

Rom. So thrive my soul.

ful. A thousand times good night.

Rom. A thousand times the worse to want thy light. Love goes tow'rd love, as school-boys from their books, But love from love, towards school with heavy looks. Enter Juliet again.

Jul. Hift! Romeo, hift! O for a falkner's voice,
To lure this Taffel gentle back again

Bondage is hoarfe and may not speak aloud,
Elfe would I tear the cave where Echo lyes,

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo.

Rom. It is my love that calls upon my name,

[Exit.

How

How filver-fweet found lovers tongues by night,

Like softest musick to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My fweet!

Jul. At what a clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?

Rom. By the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail, 'tis twenty years 'till then, I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me ftand here 'till thou remember it. Jul. I fhall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this,

h

Jul. 'Tis almoft morning. I would have thee gone, And yet no further than a Wanton's bird,

< That lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves

‹ And with a filk thread plucks it back again,
So loving jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, fo would I,

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

Good night, good night. Parting is fuch fweet forrow,

That I fhall fay good-night 'till it be morrow.

[Exit.

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast,

Would I were fleep and peace, fo sweet to rest!

Hence will I to my ghoftly friar's close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

[Exit.

M m 2

h

name,

SCENE

* Fri.

TH

SCENE IV.

A Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.

HE grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And darkness flecker'd like a drunkard reels

From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels.
Now ere the fun advance his burning eye,

The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this ofier cage of ours

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's nature's mother, is her tomb,
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;
And from her womb children of divers kind
We fucking on her natural bosom find:
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for fome, and yet all different.
O mickle is the powerful grace, that lies

In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.
For nought fo vile, that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give:
Nor ought fo good, but ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revolts to vice, and stumbles on abuse.
Virtue it self turns vice, being misapplied,

And vice sometime by action dignified.

Thefe four first lines are here replaced, conformably to the firft edition; where fuch a defcription is much more proper than in the mouth of Romeo just before, when be was full of nothing but the thoughts of his mistress.

iRevolts from true birth, ftumbling on abuse.

Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath refidence, and medicine power:
For this being smelt, with that sense chears each part;
Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart.
Two fuch opposed foes encamp them still

In man, as well as herbs; Grace, and rude Will:
And where the worfer is predominant,

Full foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good-morrow, father.

Fri. Benedicite.

What early tongue fo fweet falutes mine ear?
Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head,
So foon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth, fleep will never lye;
But where unbruised youth with unstuft brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me affure,

Thou art up-rouz'd by some diftemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. God pardon fin! waft thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no.
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

Fri. That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then?
Rom. I tell thee ere thou ask it me again;

I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Where on a fudden one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfick lies;

I

I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for lo

My interceffion likewise steads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Ridling confeffion finds but ridling thrift.

Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is fet On the fair daughter of rich Capulet ;

As mine on hers, fo hers is set on mine,

And all combin❜d, fave what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.

Fri. Holy faint Francis, what a change is here?
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love fo dear,
So foon forfaken? young mens love then lyes
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jefu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath washt thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline?
How much falt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste?
The fun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thy felf, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rofaline.
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'ft me bury love.

Fri. Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have..