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I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

[Exit.
Rom. O blessed blessed night! I am afeard,
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 :

Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. I come, anon :- But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee,

Nurse. [Within.] Madam.
Jul.

By and by, I come :-
To cease thy suit, 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 worse, to want thy light.Love

goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

[retiring Nowly. Re-enter JULIET, above. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,

And

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name :
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest musick to attending ears !

Jul. Romeo !
Rom.

My sweet !
Jul.

At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom.

At 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 still stand there, Remem'bring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone :
And yet no further than a wanton's bird ;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
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 should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say—good night, till it be morrow. [Exit,

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!~ 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell, [Exit.

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SCENE III.

Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE, with a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And Aecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels : Now ere the fun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill 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 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 herbs, plants, 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 aught so good, but, strain'd froni that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; And vice sometime 's by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and med'cine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, says all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;

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And, where the worser is predominant,
Full foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter ROMEO.

:

Rom. Good morrow, father!
Fri.

Benedicite!
What early tongue so sweet faluteth me?
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 lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unftuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign :
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature ;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That lalt is true, the sweeter rett 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 haft thou been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere 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 physick lies :
I bear no hatred, bleffed man; for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

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

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

As

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As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin'd, fave 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 this day.

Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here !
Is Rosaline, whom thon didît love so dear,
So toon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy fallow cheeks for Rosaline !
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!.
The sun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears :
Lo, here upon thy cheek the Itain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not walh’d off yet :
If e'er thou wast thyself, 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 doting, 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 not: the, whom I love now, Doth grace

for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not fo.
Fri.

0, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come go with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;

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