This holy fhrine, the gentle Fine is this ; My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready stand, To smooth that rough Touch with a tender kifs. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion fhews in this; For Saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they muft ufe in prayer. Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, (grant thou) left faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers' fake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine, my fin is purg'd. [Kiffing her. Jul. Then have my lips the fin that late they took. Rom. Sin from my lips! O trefpafs, fweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again. Jul. You kifs by th' book. Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Rom. What is her mother? Nurfe. Marry, batchelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, [To ber Nurfe. And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous. I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal : Rom. Is the a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. I'l to my Reft. [Exeunt. ful. Come hither, nurfe. What is yon gentleman ? Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not dance? Nurfe. I know not. Jul. Go, ask his name.-If he be married, My Grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague, Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate! Nurfe. What's this? what's this? Of one I danc'd withal.' Nurfe. Anon, anon [One calls within, Juliet. Come, let's away, the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt. Enter CHORUS. Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie, Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks: But to his foe fuppos'd he must complain, And she steal love's fweet bait from fearful books. Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe fuch vows as lovers ufe to fwear; And she, as much in love, her means much less, To meet her new-beloved any where : But Paffion lends them power, Time means, to meet; Temp'ring extremities with extream sweet. B 3 [Exit Chorus. ACT ACT II. SCENE, The STREET. C Enter Romeo alone. ROMEO. AN I go forward when my heart is here? . Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio. Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo. Mer. He is wife, [Exit. And, on my life, hath ftoln him home to bed. Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover! Speal: but one Rhime, and I am fatisfied. Ben. An' if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Το To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle, Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be conforted with the hum'rous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, This field-bed is too cold for me to fleep: Come, fhall we go? Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain To feek him here that means not to be found. [Exeunt, SCENE changes to Capulet's Garden. Rom. H Enter Romeo. E jefts at fcars, that never felt a wound- It is the Eaft, and Juliet is the Sun! [Juliet appears above, at a window. Arife, fair Sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already fick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than fhe. Her veftal livery is but fick and green, I am too bold, 'tis not to me fhe speaks: B 4 What What if her eyes were there, they in her head? That I might touch that cheek! Rom. She fpeaks. Oh, fpeak again, bright angel! for thou art (6) Jul. O Romeo, Romeo-wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : Or, if thou wilt not, be but fworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Rom. Shall I hear more, or fhall I fpeak at this? Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy: (6) 0, speak again, bright Angel! for then art [Afide. As glorious to this night,] Tho' all the printed Copies concur in this Reading, yet the latter part of the Similie seems to require, As glorious to this Sight; and therefore I have ventur'd to alter the Text fo. i. e. Thou appear'ft, over my Head, as glorious to my Eyes, as an Angel in the Clouds to Mortals that ftare up at him with Admiration. |