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Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
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.
Nat in a grave,
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,
Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Enter BenvolỊo and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
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?
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 !
. 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. 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.
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!