I hear fome noife within; Dear love, adieu!

Anon, good nurse !-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

Rom. O bleffed bleffed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,

Too flattering-fweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

[Exit.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable,

Thy purpose marriage, fend 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:
Nurfe. [Within.] Madam.

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

Nurfe. [Within.] Madam.

Jul.

By and by, I come :

To cease thy fuit, and leave me to my grief:

To-morrow will I fend.

Rom.

So thrive my foul,

Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worfe, to want thy light.Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

[retiring flowly.

Jul. Hift! Romeo, hift!-O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this taffel-gentle back again!

Bondage is hoarfe, and may not speak aloud;

Elfe 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 foul, that calls upon my name :
How filver-sweet found lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest musick to attending ears!

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me ftand here till thou remember it. Jul. I fhall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remem'bring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee ftill 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 ghoftly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell,

[Exit.

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 flecked 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 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 herbs, plants, ftones, and their true qualities:
For nought fo vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth fome special 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 's by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this fmall flower
Poifon hath refidence, and med'cine power:

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart.

Two fuch opposed foes 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!

Benedicite!

Fri.
What early tongue so sweet faluteth me?—
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So foon to bid good morrow to thy bed :
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, fleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unftuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earlinefs doth me affure,

Thou art up-rous'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 sweeter reft was mine.

Fri. God pardon fin!

waft thou with Rosaline?

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 ask it me again.

I have been feasting with mine enemy;

Where, on a fudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfick lies :
I bear no hatred, bleffed man; for, lo,

My interceffion likewise steads my foe.

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

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

:

As mine on hers, fo hers is fet 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 confent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy faint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rofaline, whom thon 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 wash'd thy fallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much falt water thrown away in waste,
To feafon love, that of it doth not taste !
The fun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears
Lo, here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou waft thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and thefe woes were all for Rofaline;

And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then-
Women may fail, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rofaline.
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: fhe, whom I love now,

Doth grace for grace,

The other did not fo.

Fri.

and love for love allow;

O, 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 affiftant be;