Shakespeare's First Folio Part 500

Merc. He is wise, And on my life hath stolne him home to bed

Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall.

Call good Mercutio: Nay, Ile coniure too

Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Pa.s.sion, Louer, Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh, Speake but one time, and I am satisfied: Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day, Speake to my goship Venus one faire word, One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her, Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true, When King Cophetua lou'd the begger Maid, He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not, The Ape is dead, I must coniure him, I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes, By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip, By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh, And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie, That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs

Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him

Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle, Of some strange nature, letting it stand Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe, That were some spight.

My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him

Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees To be consorted with the Humerous night: Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke

Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite, As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou a Poprin Peare, Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe, Come shall we go?

Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here That meanes not to be found.

Exeunt.

Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then she: Be not her Maid since she is enuious, Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were, She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that?

Her eye discourses, I will answere it: I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen, Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright, That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night: See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand.

O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke

Iul. Ay me

Rom. She speakes.

Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre

Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Denie thy Father and refuse thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet

Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this?

Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague, What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name Belonging to a man.

What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweete, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd, Retaine that deare perfection which he owes, Without that t.i.tle Romeo, doffe thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all my selfe

Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd, Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo

Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsell?

Rom. By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe, Because it is an Enemy to thee, Had I it written, I would teare the word

Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound.

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike

Iul. How cam'st thou hither.

Tell me, and wherefore?

The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here, Rom. With Loues light wings Did I ore-perch these Walls, For stony limits cannot hold Loue out, And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me

Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee

Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye, Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmity

Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here

Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes And but thou loue me, let them finde me here, My life were better ended by their hate, Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue

Iul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Rom. By Loue that first did prompt me to enquire, He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes, I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far As that vast-sh.o.r.e-washet with the farthest Sea, I should aduenture for such Marchandise

Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face, Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke, For that which thou hast heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement, Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st, Thou maiest proue false: at Louers periuries They say Ioue laught, oh gentle Romeo, If thou dost Loue, p.r.o.nounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne, Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt wooe: But else not for the world.

In truth faire Mountague I am too fond: And therefore thou maiest thinke my behauiour light, But trust me Gentleman, Ile proue more true, Then those that haue coying to be strange, I should haue beene more strange, I must confesse, But that thou ouer heard'st ere I was ware My true Loues pa.s.sion, therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light Loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered

Rom. Lady, by yonder Moone I vow, That tips with siluer all these Fruite tree tops

Iul. O sweare not by the Moone, th' inconstant Moone, That monethly changes in her circled Orbe, Least that thy Loue proue likewise variable

Rom. What shall I sweare by?

Iul. Do not sweare at all: Or if thou wilt sweare by thy gratious selfe, Which is the G.o.d of my Idolatry, And Ile beleeue thee

Rom. If my hearts deare loue

Iuli. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee: I haue no ioy of this contract to night, It is too rash, too vnaduis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning which doth cease to be Ere, one can say, it lightens, Sweete good night: This bud of Loue by Summers ripening breath, May proue a beautious Flower when next we meete: Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest, Come to thy heart, as that within my brest

Rom. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied?

Iuli. What satisfaction can'st thou haue to night?

Ro. Th' exchange of thy Loues faithfull vow for mine

Iul. I gaue thee mine before thou did'st request it: And yet I would it were to giue againe

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it, For what purpose Loue?

Iul. But to be franke and giue it thee againe, And yet I wish but for the thing I haue, My bounty is as boundlesse as the Sea, My Loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee The more I haue, for both are Infinite: I heare some noyse within deare Loue adue:

Cals within.

Anon good Nurse, sweet Mountague be true: Stay but a little, I will come againe

Rom. O blessed blessed night, I am afear'd Being in night, all this is but a dreame, Too flattering sweet to be substantiall

Iul. Three words deare Romeo, And goodnight indeed, If that thy bent of Loue be Honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow, By one that Ile procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt performe the right, And all my Fortunes at thy foote Ile lay, And follow thee my Lord throughout the world

Within: Madam.

I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee Within: Madam.

(By and by I come) To cease thy strife, and leaue me to my griefe, To morrow will I send

Rom. So thriue my soule

Iu. A thousand times goodnight.

Enter.