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My Bounty is as boundless as the Sea,
My Love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some Noise within ; dear Love adieu.
[Nurse calls within, Anon, good Nurse-Sweet Mountague be true: Stay but a little, I will come again.
Rom. O blessed, blessed Night, I am afraid,
Being in Night, all this is but a Dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter Juliet above.
Jul. Three Words, dear Romeo,
And good Night indeed.
If that thy bent of Love be Honourable,
Thy purpose Marriage, send me word to Morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the Rite,
And all my Fortunes at thy Foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my Lord, throughout the World.
[Within : Madam, I come, anon- but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee
[Within : Madam.
By and by, I come
To cease thy Strife, and leave me to my Grief.
To Morrow will I send.
Rom. So thrive my Soul,
Jul. A thousand times good Night.
[Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worle to want thy light, Love goes toward Love, as School-boys from their Books, But Love from Love, towards School with heavy Looks.
Enter Juliet again. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hift! O for a Falkner's Voice, To lure this Tafsel gently back again Bondage iş hoarse and may not speak aloud, Else would I tear the Cave where Eccho lyes, And make her 'airy Tongue more hoarseThen with The repetition of my Romeo
Rom. It is my Soul that calls upon my Name. How filver-sweet found Lovers Tongues by Night, Like softest Mufick to attending Ears.
Rom. My Sweet.
Jul. What a Clock to Morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom. By the hour of Nine.
Jul. I will not fail, 'tis twenty Years 'till then, I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here 'till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee ftill stand there, Remembring how I love thy Company.
Rom. And I'll still stay to have thee ftill forget,
Forgetting any other Name but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost Morning, I would have thee gone.
And yet no further than a wanton's Bird,
That lets it hop a little from his Hand,
Like a poor Prisoner in his twisted Gyves,
And with a filken thread plucks it again,
So loving jealous of his Liberty.
Rom. I would I were thy Bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing:
Good Night, good Night.
Rom. Parting is such sweet Sorrow,
That I shall say Good Night 'till it be Morrow.
Jul. Sleep dwell upon thine Eyes, peace in thy Breast, Would I were Sleep and Peace, só sweet to Rest. [Exit.
Rom. The gray-ey'd Morn smiles on the frowning Night, Check'ring the Eastern Clouds with streaks of Light, And Darkness fleckelld like a Drunkard reels, From forth Days path-way, made by Titan's Wheels. Hence will I to my Ghostly Friar's close Cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.
SCENE IV. A Monastery.
Enter Friar Lawrence, with a Basket.
Fri. Now e'er the Sun advance his burning Eye,
The Day to chear, and Night's dank Dew to dry,
I must up-fill this Osier 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 sucking on her natural Bosom find :
Many for many Virtues Excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O mickle is the powerful Grace, that lies
In Plants, Herbs, Stones, and their true Qualities :
For nought so vile, that on the Earth doth live,
But to the Earth some special good doth give.
Nor ought so good, but ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revol:s from true Birth, stumbling on abuse;
Virtue it self turns Vice, being misapplied.
And Vice sometime by Action dignified.
Within the infant Rind of this weak Flower,
Poison hath residence, and Medicine Power :
For this being smelt, with that part chears each part;
Being tasted, slays all Senses, with the Heart.
Two such opposed Kings encamp them still,
In Man, as well as Herbs, Grace and rude Will:
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the Canker Death eats up that Plant.
Rom. Good morrow, Father.
What early Tongue so sweet salutes mine Ear?
Young Son, it argues a distemper'd Head,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy Bed;
Care keeps his watch in every old Man's Eye,
And where Care lodgeth, Sleep will never lye ;
But where unbruised Youth, with unstuft Brain,
Doth couch his Limbs, there golden Sleep doth raign;
Therefore, thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-rouz’d with some distemperature ;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in Bed to Night.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter Rest was mine.
Fri. God pardon Sin; wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my Ghostly Father? No.
I have forgot that Name, and that Name's Woe.
Fri. That's my good Son: but where halt thou been then?
Rom. I'll tell thee e'er thou ask it me again;
I have been feasting with mine Enemy,
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our Remedies
Within thy help and holy Phyfick lies;
I bear no hatred, Blessed Man, for lo
My intercession likewise steads my Foe.
Fri. Be plain, good Son, rest homely in thy drift,
Ridling confellion finds but ridling Thrift.
Rom. Then plainly know my Heart's dear Love is set
On the fair Daughter of rich Capulet ;
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin'd, save what thou 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 pass, but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to Day.
Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a Change is here?
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love fo dear,
So soon forsaken ? young Mens Love then lyes
Not truly in their Hearts, but in their Eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of Brine
Hath washt thy fallow Cheeks for Rosaline ?
How much falt Water thrown away in waste,
To season Love, that of it doth not tafte?
The Sun not yet thy Sighs from Heaven clears,
Thy old Groans yet ring in my ancient Ears ;
Lo here upon thy Cheek the Stain doth fit,
Of an old Tear that is not washt off yet.
If e'er thou wast 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'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For dating, not for loving, Pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury Love.
Fri. Not in a Grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee chide me not, her I love now
Doth Grace for Grace, and Love for Love allow :
The other did not so,
Fri. Oh she knew well,
Thy Love did read by Rote, that could not spell;
But come young Waverer, come go with me,
In one respea I'll thy Afiftant 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. Wisely and flow, they stumble that run falt.
[Exeunt. S CEN E V. The Street.
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where 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 same 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 dared.
Mer. Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabb’d with a white Wench's black Eye, run through the Ear with a Love-song, the very Pin of his Heart cleft with the blind Bow-boy's but-shaft; and is he a Man to Encounter Ty.
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?
Mer. More than Prince of Cats. Oh he's the Couragious Captain of Compliments; he fights as you sing prickfongs, keeps time, distance, and proportion; he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your Borom; the very Butcher of a filk Button, a Duellist, a Duellist; 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 antique lisping affe&ing Phantasies, these new turners of Accent
Jesu, a very good blade,