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For naught so vile, that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth, some special good doth give :
Not aught so good, but strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts to vice, and stumbles on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice, sometimes, by action’s dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower,
Poison hath residence, and med’cine power:
For this being smelt, with that sense cheers each

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man, as well as herbs; grace and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker, death, eats up that plant.

Rom. [Within.] Good morrow, father.

Fri. Benedicite,
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Enter ROMEO.

Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good-morrow to thy pillow;
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth, sleep will never bide:
But where with unstuff'd brain, unbruised youth
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep resides ;
Therefore thy earliness assureth me,
Thou art uprous'd by some distemperature.
What is the matter, son?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again:
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Where, to the heart's core, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help, and holy physic lie.

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift.
Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is


On Juliet, Capulet's fair daughter,
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine :
But when, and where, and how
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vows,
I'll tell thee as we pass ;-but this I beg,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.

Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is this!
But, tell me, son, and call thy reason home,
Is not this love the offspring of thy folly,
Bred from thy wantonness and thoughtless brain?
Be heedful, youth, and see you stop betimes,
Lest that thy rash ungovernable passions,
O’erleaping duty, and each due regard,
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.



A Street.

Enter Benvolio and Mercurio. 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

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 !
Ben. 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 hay

Ben. 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.

Enter Romeo. Signior Romeo, bonjour, there's a French salutation

for you.

Rom. Good-morrow to you

both. Mer. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. What counterfeit did I give you? Mer. The slip, sir, the slip: can you not conceive?

Rom. Pardon, Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Enter NURSE and PETER.
Ben. A sail! a sail !
Mer. Two, two, a shirt and smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Pet. Anon.
Nurse. My fan, Peter.
Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face.
Nurse. Good ye good-morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. Good ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Gentlemen, can any


tell me where

Romeo ?
Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of

I may

a worse.

Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir,
I desire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to supper presently.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd: So ho.
Rom. What hast thou found ?

Mer. No hare, sir, but a bawd. Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.
Mer. Farewell, ancient lady.

[Exeunt MERCUTio and BENVOLIO. Nurse. I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his roguery?

Rom. A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear him

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self talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An' a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an' he were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks: and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills; and thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure !

[T. PETER. Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you : I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion, in a good quarrel, and the law on my side,

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers—- Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me inquire you out. What she bid me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell



shall lead her into fool's paradise, as they say; it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young, and therefore if


should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady and mistress, I protest unto thee

Nurse. Good heart, and i'faith I will tell her as much; lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to sbrist
This afternoon.
And there she shall, at Friar Lawrence' cell,
Be shriv'd and married; here is for thy pains.

Nurse. No, truly, sir, not a penny.
Rom. Go to, I say, you shall.
Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be there.

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