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This holy fhrine, the gentle Fine is this; My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready ftand,

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, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kifs. 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?

[To her Nurfe.

Nurfe. Marry, batchelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal :
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is the a Capulet?

Q dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the fport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear, the more is my unrest.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en fo? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honeft Gentlemen, good night:
More torches here-come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late.
I'l to my Reft.


ul. Come hither, nurfe. What is yon gentleman ? Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.


Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Narfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not

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Nurse. 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,
The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate!
Too early feen, unknown; and known too late ;
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I muft love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A rhime I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.' [One calls within, Juliet.

Nurfe. Anon, anon

Come, let's away, the ftrangers all are gone. [Exeunt.


Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie,

And young Affection gapes to be his heir:
That Fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
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 hooks.
Being held a foe, he may not have access


To breathe fuch vows as lovers ufe to fwear;
And fhe, 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 fweet.

[Exit Chorus.

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Enter Romeo alone.


AN I go forward when my heart is here ?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.


. Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

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Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo.
Mer. He is wife,

And, on my life, hath ftoln him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard-wall.
Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humours! madman! paffion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh,
Speal: but one Rhime, and I am fatisfied.
Cry but Ah me! couple but love and dove,
Speak to my goflip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name to her pur-blind fon and heir:
(Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid)
He heareth not, he ftirreth not, he moveth not,
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rofaline's bright eyes,
By her high fore-head, and her fcarlet lip,
By her fine foot, ftraight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demeafns that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An' if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him,


To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of fome ftrange nature, letting it there stand
'Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were fome fpight. My invocation is
Honeft and fair, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be conforted with the hum'rous night:
Blind is his love, and beft befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he fit under a medlar-tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
Which maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
Romeo, good-night; I'll to my truckle-bed,
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.

Enter Romeo.

E jefts at fcars, that never felt a wound-
But, foft! what light thro' yonder window


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. Be not her maid, fince fhe is envious: Her veftal livery is but fick and green, And none but fools do wear it; caft it offShe fpeaks, yet fhe fays nothing; what of that? Her eye difcourfes; I will anfwer it I am too bold, 'tis not to me fhe speaks: Two of the faireft ftars of all the heav'n, Having fome business, do intreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres 'till they return. B 4


What if her eyes were there, they in her head ?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As day-light doth a lamp; her eyes in heav'n
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not night:
See, how fhe leans her check upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. Ah me!
Rom. She speaks.

Oh, freak again, bright angel! for thou art (6)
As glorious to this Sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged meffenger from heav'n,
Unto the white-upturned, wondring, eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him;
When he beftrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And fails upon the bofom of the air.

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:
Thou art thy felf, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face- nor any other part.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as fweet.
So Romeo would, w re he not Romeo call'd,

(6) 0, speak again, bright Angel! for thon art

As glorious to this night,] Tho' all the printed Copies concur in this Reading, yet the latter part of the Similie feems 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.

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