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And with a filk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, fo would I;

Yet I fhould kill thee with much cherishing.

Good-night, good-night. Parting is fuch sweet forrow, That I fhall fay good-night, 'till it be morrow. [Exit. Ram. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy

breast!

'Would I were fleep and peace, so sweet to reft! Hence will I to my ghoftly Friar's clofe Cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

Fri.

SCEN E III.

Changes to a Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.

[Exit.

THE
HE grey-ey'd morn fmiles on the frown-

ing night,

Check'ring the eastern clouds with ftreaks of light:
And darkness flecker'd, like a drunkard, reels
From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels.
Now ere the Sun advance his burning eye,

The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this ofier-cage of ours

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's Nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying Grave, that is her womb;
And from her womb children of divers kind
We fucking on her natural bofom find:
Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for fome, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In plants, herbs, ftones, and their true qualities.
Nor nought fo vile, that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth fome fpecial good doth give:
Nor aught fo good, but, ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true Birth, ftumbling on abuse.

Virtue itself turns vice, being mifapplied;
And vice fometime by action's dignified..
Within the infant rind of this fmall flower
Poifon hath refidence, and medicine power:
For this being fmelt, with that fenfe cheers each part:
Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart.
*Two fuch oppofed Kin encamp them still
In man, as well as herbs, Grace and rude Will :
And where the worfer is predominant,
Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good-morrow, father.
Fri. Benedicite!

What early tongue fo fweet faluteth me?
Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head
So foon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And, where care lodgeth, fleep will never lie:
But where unburifed youth with unfluft brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earlinefs doth me assure,
Thou art uprous'd by fome diftemp'rature;
Or if not fo, then here I hit it right,

Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That laft is true, the fweeter Reft was mine.
Fri. God pardon fin! waft thou with Rofaline?
Rom. With Rofaline, my ghoftly father? no.
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri. That's my good fon: but where haft thou
been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou afk it me again;
I have been feafting with mine enemy;
Where, on a fudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfic lies;

*Two fuch oppofed foes

This is a modern Sophiftication.

The old Books have it oppofed- kings. So that it appears, Shakepear wrote, Two fuch oppofed kin.

Warb.

I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercellion likewife fteads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeffion finds but riddling fhrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;

As mine on hers, fo hers is fet on mine;
And all combin'd; fave what you must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pafs; but this I pray,
That thou confent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy faint Francis, what a change is here!
In Rofaline, whom thou didft love fo dear,
So foon forfaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jefu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath wafht thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline?
How much falt-water thrown away in wafte,
To feafon love, that of it doth not tafte?
The Sun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient 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 thyfelf, and thefe woes thine,
Thou and thefe woes were all for Rofaline.
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no ftrength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'ft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, Pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'it 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, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow:

The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh, the knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.

But

But come, young waverer, come and go with me,
In one refpect I'll thy affiftant be!

For this alliance may so happy prove,

To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love.
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.
Fri. Wifely and flow; they ftumble that run faft.
[Exeunt.

Mer.

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Changes to the STREET.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

WHERE the devil

fhould this Romeo be?

came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted, wench, that Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will, fure, run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman to old Capulet, Hath fent a letter to his father's house. Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will anfwer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may anfwer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mafter, 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-fong; 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 courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house, of

the

the first and fecond caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the, hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of fuch antic, lifping, affected phantafies, thefe new tuners of accents:-Jefu! a very good blade! -a very tall man!· -a very good whore!Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire! that we fhould be thus afflicted with thefe ftrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, thefe pardonnezmoy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench? O, their bon's, their bon's!

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roc, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchin-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibé a grey eye or fo: But now to the purpofe. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French Slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

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

Men. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning, to curt'fy.

Mer. Thou haft most kindly hit it.
Rom. A moft courteous expofition.

Thibe a grey Eye or so, but not to the Purpose.] We should read and point it thus,

Thisbe a grey Eye or fo: But now to the Purpose. VOL. IX.

H

Mer.

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