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Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies

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Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow 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 sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my

ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit, Of an old tear that is not washid 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

thenWomen 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.

Nat in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love

now, Doth

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

For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households' rancour to pure love.

Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run
fast.

[Exeunt,

SCENE IV.

A Street.

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Enter BenvolỊo 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. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that

Rosaline,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of 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; shot thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart, cleft with the blind bow-bøy's butt-shaft; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

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Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats 31, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a dụellist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause 32. Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hav33! —

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antick, lisping, aftecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents !—By Jesu, a very good blade !-a very tall man !-a very good whore !-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire 54, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnezmoy's 95, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons !

Enter Romeo.

. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo..

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring :--0 fesh, Aesh, how art thou fishified !--Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flow'd in: Laura, to his Bady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots ; Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation

to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

kom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not conceive?

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy

Mer. That's as much as to say—such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning--to court’sy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd36.

Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular. : Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness !

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio;' my wits fail.

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll

cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one

of thy wits, than, I am sure,. I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not thiş better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this driveling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hỉde his bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art dec ved, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale: and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer,

Rom. Here's a goodly geer!

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