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So foon forsaken? 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 Rosaline ?
How much salt-water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not tafte ?
The Sun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my antient ears :
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth fit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thy self, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline,
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

Rom. Thou chidd 'ft me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, Pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'i me bury love.

Fri. Not in a Grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not : fhe, whom I love now,

for grace, and love for love allow : The other did not so.

Fri. Oh, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come and go with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be:
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your houshold-rancour to pure love.

Rom. O let us hence, I stand on sudden haste.
Fri. Wifely and flow; they stumble, that run faft.


Doth grace

SCENE changes to the STRE E T.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. HERE 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 fame pale, hard-hearted, wench,




that Rosaline, torments him so, that he will, sure, run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

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 master, how he dares, being dar'd.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! ftabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-long; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-shaft ; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats ? Oh, he's the cou. ragious captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick-songs, keeps time, distance, and proportion ; rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift ; 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 antick, lifping, affected phan, tasies, these new tuners of accents :

Jesu! a very good blade! a very tall man !

very good " whore ! Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with these Itrange fies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnezmoy's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench ? O, their bon's, their bon's ! (7)


(7) 0, their bones! their bones ! ] Mercutio is here ridieuling those frenchified fantastical Coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moy's: and therefore, I suspe&, here he meant to write French too. O, their bon's! their bon's !

i. e. How

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O Aesh, 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 berime her : Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipsie, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots : Thisbé a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour ; there's a French salutation to your French Slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

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

Mer. The slip, Sir, the slip: can you not conceive ?

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, 'my business was great ; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain conrtesy:

Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as ars conftrains a man to bow in the hams,

Rom. Meaning, to curt'fie.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous expofition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesie.
Rom. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mer. Sure wit follow me this jest, now, till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jelt may remain, after the wearing, solely-fingular.

Rom. O single-fol'd jest,
Solely fingular, for the singleness !

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints,
Rom. Switch and spurs,

i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out Good, and being in Ecstasies with every Triflc: as he has just describ'd them before, Jesu! a very good blade ! &c.

Switch and spurs, or I'll cry a match.

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

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting,
It is a most sharp fawce.

Rom. And is it not well serv'd 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 stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better, than groaning for love? Now thou art sociable ; 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. Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desireft me to stop in my tale, against the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldft else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it short; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Enter Nurse, and Peter her Man.
Rom. Here's goodly Geer: a Sayle ! a Sayle!
Mer. Two, two, a Shirt and a Smock.
Nurse. Peter,
Peter. Anon?
Nurse. My Fan, Peter.

Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan's the fạirer of the two.

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


Mer. 'Tis no less, 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.

Nur fe. By my troth, it is well faid : for himself to mar, quotha ? 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.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well?
Very well took, i'faith, wisely, wisely.

Nurfe. If you be he, Sir,
I defire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd. So ho!
Rom. What haft thou found ?

Mer. No hare, Sir, unlefs a hare, Sir, in a lenten pye, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar, is very good

meat in Lent. Bat a hare, that is hoar, is too much for a score, when

it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll to dina

ner thither. Rom. I will follow

you. Mer. Farewel, antient lady : Farewel, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio.

Nurse. I pray you, Sir, what faucy merchant was this, that was so 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 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; I am none of his


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