JUL. If they do see thee, they will murther thee. ROM. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JUL. I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROM. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; And, but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JUL. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROM. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes, I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JUL. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. That monthly changes in her circled orb, JUL. Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, And I'll believe thee. ROM. If my heart's dear love JUL. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; ROM. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied! And yet I would it were to give again. ROM. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JUL. But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: 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! Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Nurse calls within. 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. [Exit. 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 follow thee my lord throughout the world. JUL. I come, anon:-But if thou mean'st not well, NURSE. [Within.] Madam. JUL. By and by, I come: To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief: ROM. So thrive my soul,— JUL. A thousand times good night! [Exit. ROM. A thousand times the worse to want thy lightLove goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Re-enter JULIET, above. [Retiring slowly. JUL. Hist! Romeo, hist!-O, 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 make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine ROM. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: JUL. I will not fail; 't is twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Roм. Let me stand here till thou remember it. JUL. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company. ROM. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JUL. "T is almost morning, I would have thee gone: Who lets it hop a little from her hand, ROM. I would I were thy bird. JUL. Sweet, so would I: [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 friar's close 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 gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, From forth day's path, and Titan's fiery wheels: With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO. ROM. Good morrow, father! FRI. 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 last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRI. That's my good son: but where hast 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, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRI. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. |