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For this alliance may so happy prove,

To turn your households' rancour to pure love.
Rom. O, let us hence; I ftand cn fudden hafte.
Fri. Wifely, and flow; They ftumble, 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. Ah, that fame pale hard-hearted wench, that Rofaline,

Torments him fo, that he will fure run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman of old Capulet,
Hath fent a letter to his father's houfe.
Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mafter, how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-fhaft; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you fing prick-fong, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your

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bofom the very butcher of a filk button, a duellist, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house,—of the first and second caufe: Ah, the immortal paffado! the punto reverfo! the hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of fuch antick, lisping, affecting fantafticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By Jefu, a very good blade!―a very tall man!—a very good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moy's, who stand fo much on the new form, that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring :-O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flow'd in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, fhe had a better love to berhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipfy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.-Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French falutation to your French flop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, fir, the flip; Can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to fay-fuch a cafe as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning-to court'fy.
Mer. Thou haft most kindly hit it.

Rom.

Rom. A moft courteous expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mer. Well faid: Follow me this jest now, till thou haft worn out thy pump; that, when the fingle fole of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular.

Rom. O fingle-foled jeft, folely fingular for the finglenefs!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail. Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou haft more of the wild-goofe in one of thy wits, than, I am fure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou waft never with me for any thing, when thou waft not there for the goofe.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Rom. Nay, good goofe, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a moft fharp fauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I ftretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goofe, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou fociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this driveling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

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Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou defireft me to ftop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for 1 was come to the whole depth of my tale: and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter Nurse and PETER.

Mer. A fail, a fail, a fail!

Ben. Two, two; a thirt, and a fmock.

Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurfe. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurfe. Is it good den ?

Mer. 'Tis no lefs, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you?

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself

to mar.

Nurfe. By my troth, it is well faid;-For himself to mar, quoth'a ?—Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you fought him I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse.

Nurfe. You fay well.

Mer.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wifely, wifely.

Nurfe. If you be he, fir, I defire fome confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to some fupper.

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What haft thou found?

Mer. No hare, fir; unless a hare, fir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

An old bare boar,

And an old bare hoar,
Is very good meat in lent :
But a bare that is hoar,

Is too much for a score,

When it boars ere it be spent.

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Nurfe. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, fir, what faucy merchant was this, that was fo full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a fpeak any thing against me, I'll take him down an a' were luftier than he is, and twenty fuch Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his fkainsmates-And thou must ftand by too, and fuffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I faw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you:

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