Cap. Why, how now, kinfman, wherefore ftorm
you fo?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:
A villain, that is hither come in fpight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tyb. That villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone
He bears him like a portly Gentleman:
And, to fay truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him difparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him;
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-befeeming femblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when fuch a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap. "He fhall be endur'd.

"What, goodman boy-I fay, he fhall. Go to
"Am I the mafter here, or you? go to-

"You'll not endure him! God fhall mend my foul,
"You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
"You will fet cock-a-hoop? you'll be the man?"
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

Cap. "Go to, go to,

"You are a faucy boy-is't fo, indeed?

"This trick may chance to fcathe you; I know what. "You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.

"Well faid, my hearts:- You are a Princox,

go:

"Be quiet, or (more light, more light, for fhame) "I'll make you quiet-What? cheerly, my hearts." Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different Greeting.

I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now feeming fweet, convert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand

[To Juliet. This holy fhrine, the gentle Fine is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready ftand,

To smooth that rough Touch with a tender kifs. ful. 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' kiss.
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) lest 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 trespass, sweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again.

Jul. You kifs by th' book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with

3 If I profane with my unworthy hand

This holy brine, the gentle Sin is this,

[To her Nurse.

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, &c.] All profanations are fuppos'd to be expiated either by fome meritorious action or by fome penance undergone and punishment fubmitted to. So, Romea would here fay, if I have been profane in the rude touch of my hand, my lips ftand ready, as two blushing pilgrims, to take off that offence, to atone for it by a sweet penance. Our poet therefore muft have wrote,

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 fhe a Capulet?

O 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'll to my Reft.

[Exeunt. Jul. 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? Nurfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go, ask his name.-If he be married, My Grave is like to be my wedding-bed. Nurse. 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 must love a loathed enemy. Nurfe. What's this? what's this? ful. A rhime I learn'd e'en now

Of one I danc'd withal.

Nurse. Anon, anon

[One calls within, Juliet.

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

Enter

Enter 4 CHORUS.

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 bewitch'd 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 sweet.

[Exit Chorus.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The

STREET.

Enter Romeo alone.

ROMEO.

CA

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

[Exit.

Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my coufin Romeo.

Mer. He is wife,

And, on my life, hath ftoln him home to bed.

4 CHORUS.] This chorus added fince the firft edition.

Mr. Pope.

Ben.

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,
Speak but one Rhime, and I am fatisfied.
Cry but Ah me! couple but love and dove,
Speak to my goffip Venus one fair word,

1

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 stirreth not, he moveth not,
The ape is dead, and I muft 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 some strange nature, letting it there ftand
'Till fhe 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 thefe 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 with his miftrefs were that kind of fruit, Which maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.Romeo, good-night; I'll to my truckle-bed,

1 When King Cophetua &c.] Alluding to an old ballad.

Mr. Pope.

This