And with a filk thread plucks it back again, Rom. I would, I were thy bird. Yet I fhould kill thee with much cherishing. Good-night, good-night. Parting is fuch sweet forrow, That I fhall fay good-night, 'till it be morrow. [Exit. Ram. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! 'Would I were fleep and peace, so sweet to reft! Hence will I to my ghoftly Friar's clofe Cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Fri. SCEN E III. Changes to a Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket. [Exit. THE ing night, Check'ring the eastern clouds with ftreaks of light: The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. None but for fome, and yet all different. Virtue itself turns vice, being mifapplied; Rom. Good-morrow, father. What early tongue fo fweet faluteth me? Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Rom. That laft is true, the fweeter Reft was mine. Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou afk it me again; *Two fuch oppofed foes This is a modern Sophiftication. The old Books have it oppofed- kings. So that it appears, Shakepear wrote, Two fuch oppofed kin. Warb. I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeffion finds but riddling fhrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; As mine on hers, fo hers is fet on mine; Fri. Holy faint Francis, what a change is here! Hath wafht thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline? 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, and love for love allow: The other did not fo. Fri. Oh, the knew well, Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. But But come, young waverer, come and go with me, For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love. Mer. Changes to the STREET. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. WHERE the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted, wench, that Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will, fure, run mad. Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman to old Capulet, Hath fent a letter to his father's house. Mer. A challenge, on my life. Ben. Romeo will anfwer it. Mer. Any man, that can write, may anfwer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mafter, how he dares, being dar'd. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? Mer. More than prince of cats? Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house, of the the first and fecond caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the, hay! Ben. The what? Mer. The pox of fuch antic, lifping, affected phantafies, thefe new tuners of accents:-Jefu! a very good blade! -a very tall man!· -a very good whore!Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire! that we fhould be thus afflicted with thefe ftrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, thefe pardonnezmoy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at eafe on the old bench? O, their bon's, their bon's! Enter Romeo. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roc, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchin-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibé a grey eye or fo: But now to the purpofe. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French Slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. Good-morrow to you Both: What counterfeit did I give you? Men. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning, to curt'fy. Mer. Thou haft most kindly hit it. Thibe a grey Eye or so, but not to the Purpose.] We should read and point it thus, Thisbe a grey Eye or fo: But now to the Purpose. VOL. IX. H Mer. |