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Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair, which love groan'd for, 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 suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.
ACT II. SCENE I.
AN OPEN PLACE, ADJOINING CAPULET'S
Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.
Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those
To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?
Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here, that means not to be found.
Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.— [Juliet appears above, at a window. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that?
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;-
I take thee at thy word: