Chapter X: Act V: SCENE I. Mantua. A street.1393 (2)

_Ro_: Alas that loue whose view is muffled still, 95
Should without lawes giue path-waies to our will:
Where shall we dine? Gods me, what fray was here?
Yet tell me not for I haue heard it all,
Heres much to doe with hate, but more with loue.
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, 100
O anie thing, of nothing first create!
O heauie lightnes serious vanitie!
Mishapen _Caos_ of best seeming thinges,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sicke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: 105
This loue feele I, which feele no loue in this.
Doest thou not laugh?

_Ben_: No Cose I rather weepe.

_Rom_: Good hart at what?

_Ben_: At thy good hearts oppression. 110

_Ro_: Why such is loues transgression,
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie at my hart,
Which thou wouldst propagate to haue them prest
With more of thine, this griefe that thou hast showne,
Doth ad more griefe to too much of mine owne: 115
Loue is a smoke raisde with the fume of sighes
Being purgde, a fire sparkling in louers eyes:
Being vext, a sea raging with a louers teares.
What is it else? A madnes most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet. Farewell Cose. 120

_Ben_: Nay Ile goe along.
And if you hinder me you doo me wrong.

_Ro_: Tut I haue lost my selfe I am not here,
This is not _Romeo_, hee's some other where.

_Ben_: Tell me in sadnes whome she is you loue? 125

_Ro_: What shall I grone and tell thee?

_Ben_: Why no, but sadly tell me who.

_Ro_: Bid a sickman in sadnes make his will.
Ah word ill vrgde to one that is so ill.
In sadnes Cosen I doo loue a woman. 130

_Ben_: I aimde so right, when as you said you lou'd.

_Ro_: A right good mark-man, and shee's faire I loue.

_Ben_: A right faire marke faire Cose is soonest hit.

_Ro_: But in that hit you misse, shee'le not be hit
With _Cupids_ arrow, she hath _Dianaes_ wit, 135
And in strong proofe of chastitie well arm'd:
Gainst _Cupids_ childish bow she liues vnharm'd,
Shee'le not abide the siedge of louing tearmes,
Nor ope her lap to Saint seducing gold,
Ah she is rich in beautie, only poore, 140
That when she dies with beautie dies her store. _Exeu._

[Sidenote: [SC. II.]]

_Enter Countie_ Paris, _old_ Capulet.

Of honorable reckoning are they both,
And pittie tis they liue at ods so long:
But leauing that, what say you to my sute?

_Capu_: What should I say more than I said before,
My daughter is a stranger in the world, 5
Shee hath not yet attainde to fourteene yeares:
Let two more sommers wither in their pride,
Before she can be thought fit for a Bride.

_Paris_: Younger than she are happie mothers made.

_Cap_: But too soone marde are these so early maried: 10
But wooe her gentle _Paris_, get her heart,
My word to her consent is but a part.
This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast,
Whereto I haue inuited many a guest,
Such as I loue: yet you among the store, 15
One more most welcome makes the number more.
At my poore house you shall behold this night,
Earth treadding stars, that make darke heauen light:
Such comfort as doo lusty youngmen feele,
When well apparaild Aprill on the heele 20
Of lumping winter treads, euen such delights
Amongst fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house, heare all, all see,
And like her most, whose merite most shalbe.
Such amongst view of many myne beeing one, 25
May stand in number though in reckoning none.

_Enter Servingman._

Where are you sirra, goe trudge about
Through faire _Verona_ streets, and seeke them out:
Whose names are written here and to them say,
My house and welcome at their pleasure stay. _Exeunt._ 30

_Ser_: Seeke them out whose names are written here,
and yet I knowe not who are written here: I must to
the learned to learne of them, that's as much to say, as
the Taylor must meddle with his Laste, the Shoomaker
with his needle, the Painter with his nets, and the Fisher 35
with his Pensill, I must to the learned.

_Enter Benuolio and Romeo._

_Ben_: Tut man one fire burnes out anothers burning,
One paine is lessned with anothers anguish:
Turne backward, and be holp with backward turning.
One desperate griefe cures with anothers languish. 40
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the ranke poyson of the old will die.

_Romeo_: Your Planton leafe is excellent for that.

_Ben_: For what?

_Romeo_: For your broken shin. 45

_Ben_: Why _Romeo_ art thou mad?

_Rom_: Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is.
Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,
Whipt and tormented, and Godden good fellow.

_Ser_: Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read? 50

_Rom_: I mine owne fortune in my miserie.

_Ser_: Perhaps you haue learned it without booke:
but I pray can you read any thing you see?

_Rom_: I if I know the letters and the language.

_Seru_: Yee say honestly, rest you merrie. 55

_Rom_: Stay fellow I can read.

_He reads the Letter._

_Seigneur_ Martino _and his wife and daughters, Countie_
Anselme _and his beauteous sisters, the Ladie widdow of_
Vtruuio, _Seigneur_ Placentio, _and his louelie Neeces_,
Mercutio _and his brother_ Valentine, _mine vncle_ Capulet 60
_his wife and daughters, my faire Neece_ Rosaline _and_
_Liuia, Seigneur_ Valentio _and his Cosen_ Tibalt, Lucio
_and the liuelie_ Hellena.

A faire assembly, whether should they come?

_Ser_: Vp. 65

_Ro_: Whether to supper?

_Ser_: To our house.

_Ro_: Whose house?

_Ser_: My Masters.

_Ro_: Indeed I should haue askt thee that before. 70

_Ser_: Now il'e tel you without asking. My Master is
the great rich _Capulet_, and if you be not of the house of
_Mountagues_, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest
you merrie.

_Ben_: At this same auncient feast of _Capulets_, 75
Sups the faire _Rosaline_ whom thou so loues:
With all the admired beauties of _Verona_,
Goe thither and with vnattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall shew,
And I will make thee thinke thy swan a crow. 80

_Ro_: When the deuout religion of mine eye
Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire,
And these who often drownde could neuer die,
Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers.
One fairer than my loue, the all seeing sonne 85
Nere saw her match, since first the world begun.

_Ben_: Tut you saw her faire none els being by,
Her selfe poysd with her selfe in either eye:
But in that Cristall scales let there be waide,
Your Ladyes loue, against some other maide 90
That I will shew you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant shew well that now seemes best.

_Rom_: Ile goe along no such sight to be showne,
But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.

[Sidenote: [SC. III.]]

_Enter Capulets wife and Nurce._

_Wife_: Nurce wher's my daughter call her forth to mee.

_Nurce_: _Now by my maiden head at twelue yeare old I_
_bad her come, what Lamb, what Ladie bird, God forbid._
_Wher's this girle? what_ Iuliet. _Enter Iuliet._ 5

_Iuliet_: How now who cals?

_Nurce_: _Your Mother._

_Iul_: Madame I am here, what is your will?

_W_: This is the matter. Nurse giue leaue a while, we
must talke in secret. Nurce come back again I haue remembred 10
me, thou'se heare our counsaile. Thou knowest
my daughters of a prettie age.

_Nurce_: _Faith I can tell her age vnto a houre._

_Wife_: Shee's not fourteene.

_Nurce_: _I'll lay fourteene of my teeth, and yet to my_ 15
_teene be it spoken, I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene._
_How long is it now to_ Lammas-tide?

_Wife_: A fortnight and odde dayes.

_Nurce_: _Euen or odde, of all dayes in the yeare come_
Lammas _Eue at night shall she be fourteene._ Susan _and she_ 20
_God rest all Christian soules were of an age. Well_ Susan _is_
_with God, she was too good for me: But as I said on_ Lammas
_Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall shee marie_
_I remember it well. Tis since the Earth-quake nowe eleauen_
_yeares, and she was weand I neuer shall forget it, of_ 25
_all the daies of the yeare vpon that day: for I had then laid_
_wormewood to my dug, sitting in the sun vnder the Doue-house_
_wall. My Lord and you were then at_ Mantua, _nay I_
_do beare a braine: But as I said, when it did tast the wormwood_
_on the nipple of my dug, & felt it bitter, pretty foole_ 30
_to see it teachie and fall out with Dugge. Shake quoth the_
_Doue-house twas no need I trow to bid me trudge, and since_
_that time it is a leauen yeare: for then could_ Iuliet _stande_
_high lone, nay by the Roode, shee could haue wadled vp and_
_downe, for euen the day before shee brake her brow, and then_ 35
_my husband God be with his soule, hee was a merrie man:_
_Dost thou fall forward_ Iuliet? _thou wilt fall backward when_
_thou hast more wit: wilt thou not_ Iuliet? _and by my hollidam,_
_the pretty foole left crying and said I. To see how a_
_ieast shall come about, I warrant you if I should liue a hundred_ 40
_yeare, I neuer should forget it, wilt thou not_ Iuliet_?_
_and by my troth she stinted and cried I._

_Iuliet_: And stint thou too, I prethee Nurce say I.

_Nurce_: _Well goe thy waies, God marke thee for his_
_grace, thou wert the prettiest Babe that euer I nurst, might_ 45
_I but liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish._

_Wife_: And that same marriage Nurce, is the Theame
I meant to talke of: Tell me _Iuliet_, howe stand you affected
to be married?

_Iul_: It is an honor that I dreame not off. 50

_Nurce_: _An honor! were not I thy onely Nurce, I_
_would say thou hadst suckt wisedome from thy Teat._

_Wife_: Well girle, the Noble Countie _Paris_ seekes
thee for his Wife.

_Nurce_: _A man young Ladie, Ladie such a man as all_ 55
_the world, why he is a man of waxe._

_Wife: Veronaes_ Summer hath not such a flower.

_Nurce_: _Nay he is a flower, in faith a very flower._

_Wife_: Well _Iuliet_, how like you of _Paris_ loue.

_Iuliet_: Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue, 60
But no more deepe will I engage mine eye,
Then your consent giues strength to make it flie.

_Enter Clowne._

Clowne: _Maddam you are cald for, supper is readie,_
_the Nurce curst in the Pantrie, all thinges in extreamitie,_
_make hast for I must be gone to waite._ 65

[Sidenote: [SC. IV.]]

_Enter Maskers with_ Romeo _and a Page_.

_Ro_: What shall this speech bee spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apologie.

_Benuoleo_: The date is out of such prolixitie,
Weele haue no _Cupid_ hudwinckt with a Scarfe,
Bearing a _Tartars_ painted bow of lath, 5
Scaring the Ladies like a crow-keeper:
Nor no withoutbooke Prologue faintly spoke
After the Prompter, for our entrance.
But let them measure vs by what they will,
Weele measure them a measure and be gone. 10

_Rom_: A torch for me I am not for this aumbling,
Being but heauie I will beare the light.

_Mer_: Beleeue me _Romeo_ I must haue you daunce.

_Rom_: Not I beleeue me you haue dancing shooes
With nimble soles, I haue a soule of lead 15
So stakes me to the ground I cannot stirre.

_Mer_: Giue me a case to put my visage in,
A visor for a visor, what care I
What curious eye doth coate deformitie.

_Rom_: Giue me a Torch, let wantons light of hart 20
Tickle the senceles rushes with their heeles:
For I am prouerbd with a Grandsire phrase,
Ile be a candleholder and looke on,
The game was nere so faire and I am done.

_Mer_: Tut dun's the mouse, the Cunstables old word, 25
If thou beest Dun, weele draw thee from the mire
Of this surreuerence loue wherein thou stickst.
Leaue this talke, we burne day light here.

_Rom_: Nay thats not so. _Mer_: I meane sir in delay,
We burne our lights by night, like Lampes by day, 30
Take our good meaning for our iudgement sits
Three times a day, ere once in her right wits.

_Rom_: So we meane well by going to this maske:
But tis no wit to goe.

_Mer_: Why _Romeo_ may one aske? 35

_Rom_: I dreamt a dreame to night.

_Mer_: And so did I. _Rom_: Why what was yours?

_Mer_: That dreamers often lie.

_Rom_: In bed a sleepe while they doe dreame things true.

_Mer_: Ah then I see Queene _Mab_ hath bin with you. 40

_Ben_: Queene _Mab_ whats she?
She is the Fairies Midwife and doth come
In shape no bigger than an Aggat stone
On the forefinger of a Burgomaster,
Drawne with a teeme of little Atomi, 45
A thwart mens noses when they lie a sleepe.
Her waggon spokes are made of spinners webs,
The couer, of the winges of Grashoppers,
The traces are the Moone-shine watrie beames,
The collers crickets bones, the lash of filmes, 50
Her waggoner is a small gray coated flie,
Not halfe so big as is a little worme,
Pickt from the lasie finger of a maide,
And in this sort she gallops vp and downe
Through Louers braines, and then they dream of loue: 55
O're Courtiers knees: who strait on cursies dreame
O're Ladies lips, who dreame on kisses strait:
Which oft the angrie Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breathes with sweet meats tainted are:
Sometimes she gallops ore a Lawers lap, 60
And then dreames he of smelling out a sute,
And sometime comes she with a tithe pigs taile,
Tickling a Parsons nose that lies a sleepe,
And then dreames he of another benefice:
Sometime she gallops ore a souldiers nose, 65
And then dreames he of cutting forraine throats,
Of breaches ambuscados, countermines,
Of healthes fiue fadome deepe, and then anon
Drums in his eare: at which he startes and wakes,
And sweares a Praier or two and sleepes againe. 70
This is that Mab that makes maids lie on their backes,
And proues them women of good cariage.
This is the verie Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night,
And plats the Elfelocks in foule sluttish haire,
Which once vntangled much misfortune breedes. 75

_Rom_: Peace, peace, thou talkst of nothing.

_Mer_: True I talke of dreames,
Which are the Children of an idle braine,
Begot of nothing but vaine fantasie,
Which is as thinne a substance as the aire, 80
And more inconstant than the winde,
Which wooes euen now the frose bowels of the north,
And being angred puffes away in haste,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

_Ben_: Come, come, this winde doth blow vs from ourselues. 85
Supper is done and we shall come too late.

_Ro_: I feare too earlie, for my minde misgiues
Some consequence is hanging in the stars,
Which bitterly begins his fearefull date
With this nights reuels, and expiers the terme 90
Of a dispised life, closde in this breast,
By some vntimelie forfet of vile death:
But he that hath the steerage of my course
Directs my saile, on lustie Gentlemen.

[Sidenote: [SC. V.]]

_Enter old_ Capulet _with the ladies_.

_Capu_: Welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen,
Ladies that haue their toes vnplagud with Corns
Will haue about with you, ah ha my Mistresses,
Which of you all will now refuse to dance?
Shee that makes daintie, shee Ile sweare hath Corns. 5
Am I come neere you now, welcome Gentlemen, welcome,
More lights you knaues, & turn these tables vp,
And quench the fire the roome is growne too hote.
Ah sirra, this vnlookt for sport comes well,
Nay sit, nay sit, good Cosen _Capulet_: 10
For you and I are past our standing dayes,
How long is it since you and I were in a Maske?

_Cos_: By Ladie sir tis thirtie yeares at least.

_Cap_: Tis not so much, tis not so much.
Tis since the mariage of _Lucentio_, 15
Come _Pentecost_ as quicklie as it will,
Some fiue and twentie yeares, and then we maskt.

_Cos_: Tis more, tis more, his sonne is elder far.

_Cap_: Will you tell me that it cannot be so,
His sonne was but a Ward three yeares agoe,
Good youths I faith. Oh youth's a iolly thing.

_Rom_: What Ladie is that that doth inrich the hand
Of yonder Knight? O shee doth teach the torches to burne bright!
It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night,
Like a rich iewell in an _Aethiops_ eare, 25
Beautie too rich for vse, for earth too deare:
So shines a snow-white Swan trouping with Crowes,
As this faire Ladie ouer her fellowes showes.
The measure done, ile watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make happie my rude hand. 30
Did my heart loue till now? Forsweare it sight,
I neuer saw true beautie till this night.

_Tib_: This by his voice should be a _Mountague_,
Fetch me my rapier boy. What dares the slaue
Come hither couer'd with an Anticke face, 35
To scorne and ieere at our solemnitie?
Now by the stocke and honor of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it for no sin.

_Ca_: Why how now cosen, wherfore storme you so.

_Ti_: Vncle this is a _Mountague_ our foe, 40
A villaine that is hether come in spight,
To mocke at our solemnitie this night.

_Ca_: Young _Romeo_, is it not?

_Ti_: It is that villaine _Romeo_.

_Ca_: Let him alone, he beares him like a portly gentleman, 45
And to speake truth, _Verona_ brags of him,
As of a vertuous and well gouern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all this towne,
Here in my house doo him disparagement:
Therefore be quiet take no note of him, 50
Beare a faire presence, and put off these frownes,
An ill beseeming semblance for a feast.

_Ti_: It fits when such a villaine is a guest,
Ile not indure him.

_Ca_: He shalbe indured, goe to I say, he shall. 55
Am I the Master of the house or you?
You'le not indure him? God shall mend my soule
You'le make a mutenie amongst my guests.
You'le set Cocke a hoope, you'le be the man.

_Ti_: Vncle tis a shame. 60

_Ca_: Goe too, you are a saucie knaue.
This tricke will scath you one day I know what.
Well said my hartes. Be quiet:
More light Ye knaue, or I will make you quiet.

_Tibalt_: Patience perforce with wilfull choller meeting, 65
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greetings:
I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall.

_Rom_: If I prophane with my vnworthie hand,
This holie shrine, the gentle sinne is this: 70
My lips two blushing Pilgrims ready stand,
To smooth the rough touch with a gentle kisse.

_Iuli_: Good Pilgrime you doe wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this:
For Saints haue hands which holy Palmers touch, 75
And Palme to Palme is holy Palmers kisse.

_Rom_: Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too?

_Iuli_: Yes Pilgrime lips that they must vse in praier.

_Ro_: Why then faire saint, let lips do what hands doo,
They pray, yeeld thou, least faith turne to dispaire. 80

_Iu_: Saints doe not mooue though: grant nor praier forsake.

_Ro_: Then mooue not till my praiers effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours my sin is purgde.

_Iu_: Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke.

_Ro_: Sinne from my lips, O trespasse sweetly vrgde! 85
Giue me my sinne againe.

_Iu_: You kisse by the booke.

Nurse: _Madame your mother calles._

_Rom_: What is her mother?

Nurse: _Marrie Batcheler her mother is the Ladie of the_ 90
_house, and a good Lady, and a wise, and a vertuous. I nurst_
_her daughter that you talkt withall, I tell you, he that can_
_lay hold of her shall haue the chinkes._

_Rom_: Is she a _Mountague_? Oh deare account,
My life is my foes thrall. 95

_Ca_: Nay gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish banquet towards.

_They whisper in his eare._

I pray you let me intreat you. Is it so?
Well then _I_ thanke you honest Gentlemen,
I promise you but for your company, 100
I would haue bin a bed an houre agoe:
Light to my chamber hoe. _Exeunt._

_Iul_: Nurse, what is yonder Gentleman?

_Nur_: _The sonne and heire of old_ Tiberio.

_Iul_: Whats he that now is going out of dore? 105

_Nur_: _That as I thinke is yong_ Petruchio.

_Iul_: Whats he that followes there that would not dance?

_Nur_: _I know not._

_Iul_: Goe learne his name, if he be maried,
My graue is like to be my wedding bed. 110

_Nur_: _His name is_ Romeo _and a_ Mountague, _the onely_
_sonne of your great enemie._

_Iul_: My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene vnknowne, and knowne too late:
Prodigious birth of loue is this to me, 115
That I should loue a loathed enemie.

Nurse: _Whats this? whats that?_

_Iul_: Nothing Nurse but a rime I learnt euen now of oue I dancst with.

Nurse: _Come your mother staies for you, Ile goe a long_
_with you._ _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. VI.]]

_Enter Romeo alone._

_Ro_: Shall I goe forward and my heart is here?
Turne backe dull earth and finde thy Center out.

_Enter Benuolio Mercutio_.

_Ben: Romeo_, my cosen _Romeo_.

_Mer_: Doest thou heare he is wise,
Vpon my life he hath stolne him home to bed. 5

_Ben_: He came this way, and leapt this Orchard wall.
Call good _Mercutio._

_Mer_: Call, nay Ile coniure too.

_Romeo_, madman, humors, passion, liuer, appeare thou in
likenes of a sigh: speek but one rime & I am satisfied, cry 10
but ay me. Pronounce but Loue and Doue, speake to
my gossip _Venus_ one faire word, one nickname for her
purblinde sonne and heire young _Abraham: Cupid_ hee
that shot so trim when young King _Cophetua_ loued the
begger wench. Hee heares me not. I coniure thee by 15
_Rosalindes_ bright eye, high forehead, and scarlet lip, her
prettie foote, straight leg, and quiuering thigh, and the
demaines that there adiacent lie, that in thy likenesse
thou appeare to vs.

_Ben_: If he doe heare thee thou wilt anger him. 20

_Mer_: Tut this cannot anger him, marrie if one shuld
raise a spirit in his Mistris circle of some strange fashion,
making it there to stand till she had laid it, and coniurde
it downe, that were some spite. My inuocation is faire
and honest, and in his Mistris name I coniure onely but 25
to raise vp him.

_Ben_: Well he hath hid himselfe amongst those trees,
To be consorted with the humerous night,
Blinde in his loue, and best befits the darke.

_Mer_: If loue be blind, loue will not hit the marke, 30
Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree,
And wish his Mistris were that kinde of fruite,
As maides call Medlers when they laugh alone.
Ah _Romeo_ that she were, ah that she were
An open _Et cætera_, thou a poprin Peare. 35
_Romeo_ God night, il'e to my trundle bed:
This field bed is too cold for mee.
Come lets away, for tis but vaine,
To seeke him here that meanes not to be found.

_Ro_: He iests at scars that neuer felt a wound: 40
But soft, what light forth yonder window breakes?
It is the East, and _Iuliet_ is the Sunne,
Arise faire Sunne, and kill the enuious Moone
That is alreadie sicke, and pale with griefe:
That thou her maid, art far more faire than she. 45
Be not her maide since she is enuious,
Her vestall liuerie is but pale and greene,
And none but fooles doe weare it, cast it off.
She speakes, but she sayes nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourseth, I will answere it. 50
I am too bold, tis not to me she speakes,
Two of the fairest starres in all the skies,
Hauing some busines, doe entreat her eyes
To twinckle in their spheares till they returne.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head, 55
The brightnes of her cheekes would shame those stars:
As day-light doth a Lampe, her eyes in heauen,
Would through the airie region streame so bright,
That birdes would sing, and thinke it were not night.
Oh now she leanes her cheekes vpon her hand, 60
I would I were the gloue to that same hand,
That I might kisse that cheeke.

_Iul_: Ay me.

_Rom_: She speakes, Oh speake againe bright Angell:
For thou art as glorious to this night beeing ouer my head, 65
As is a winged messenger of heauen
Vnto the white vpturned woondring eyes,
Of mortals that fall backe to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lasie pacing cloudes,
And sailes vpon the bosome of the aire. 70

_Iul_: Ah _Romeo, Romeo_, wherefore art thou _Romeo?_
Denie thy Father, and refuse thy name,
Or if thou wilt not be but sworne my loue,
And il'e no longer be a _Capulet_.

_Rom_: Shall I heare more, or shall I speake to this? 75

_Iul_: Tis but thy name that is mine enemie.
Whats _Mountague_? It is nor hand nor foote,
Nor arme, nor face, nor any other part.
Whats in a name? That which we call a Rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet: 80
So _Romeo_ would, were he not _Romeo_ cald,
Retaine the diuine perfection he owes:
Without that title _Romeo_ part thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee,
Take all I haue. 85

_Rom_: I take thee at thy word,
Call me but loue, and il'e be new Baptisde,
Henceforth I neuer will be _Romeo_.

_Iu_: What man art thou, that thus beskrind in night,
Doest stumble on my counsaile? 90

_Ro_: By a name I know not how to tell thee.
My name deare Saint is hatefull to my selfe,
Because it is an enemie to thee.
Had I it written I would teare the word.

_Iul_: My eares haue not yet drunk a hundred words 95
Of that tongues vtterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not _Romeo_ and a _Mountague_?

_Ro_: Neyther faire Saint, if eyther thee displease.

_Iu_: How camst thou hether, tell me and wherfore?
The Orchard walles are high and hard to clime, 100
And the place death considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen finde thee here.

_Ro_: By loues light winges did I oreperch these wals,
For stonie limits cannot hold loue out,
And what loue can doo, that dares loue attempt, 105
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

_Iul_: If they doe finde thee they will murder thee.

_Ro_: Alas there lies more perrill in thine eyes,
Then twentie of their swords, looke thou but sweete,
And I am proofe against their enmitie. 110

_Iul_: I would not for the world they shuld find thee here.

_Ro_: I haue nights cloak to hide thee from their sight,
And but thou loue me let them finde me here:
For life were better ended by their hate,
Than death proroged wanting of thy loue. 115

_Iul_: By whose directions foundst thou out this place.

_Ro_: By loue, who first did prompt me to enquire,
I he gaue me counsaile and I lent him eyes.
I am no Pilot: yet wert thou as farre
As that vast shore, washt with the furthest sea, 120
I would aduenture for such Marchandise.

_Iul_: Thou knowst the maske of night is on my face,
Els would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeks:
For that which thou haste heard me speake to night,
Faine would I dwell on forme, faine faine denie, 125
What I haue spoke: but farewell complements.
Doest thou loue me? Nay I know thou wilt say I,
And I will take thy word: but if thou swearst,
Thou maiest proue false:
At Louers periuries they say Ioue smiles. 130
Ah gentle _Romeo_, if thou loue pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou thinke I am too easely wonne,
Il'e frowne and say thee nay and be peruerse,
So thou wilt wooe: but els not for the world,
In truth faire _Mountague_, I am too fond, 135
And therefore thou maiest thinke my hauiour light:
But trust me gentleman Ile proue more true,
Than they that haue more cunning to be strange.
I should haue bin strange I must confesse,
But that thou ouer-heardst ere I was ware 140
My true loues Passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yeelding to light loue,
Which the darke night hath so discouered.

_Ro_: By yonder blessed Moone I sweare,
That tips with siluer all these fruit trees tops. 145

_Iul_: O sweare not by the Moone the vnconstant Moone,
That monthlie changeth in her circled orbe,
Least that thy loue proue likewise variable.

_Ro_: Now by

_Iul_: Nay doo not sweare at all, 150
Or if thou sweare, sweare by thy glorious selfe,
Which art the God of my Idolatrie,
And il'e beleeue thee.

_Ro_: If my true harts loue

_Iul_: Sweare not at al, though I doo ioy in thee, 155
I haue small ioy in this contract to night,
It is too rash, too sodaine, too vnaduisde,
Too like the lightning that doth cease to bee
Ere one can say it lightens. I heare some comming,
Deare loue adew, sweet _Mountague_ be true, 160
Stay but a little and il'e come againe.

_Ro_: O blessed blessed night, I feare being night,
All this is but a dreame I heare and see,
Too flattering true to be substantiall.

_Iul_: Three wordes good _Romeo_ and good night indeed. 165
If that thy bent of loue be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow
By one that il'e procure to come to thee:
Where and what time thou wilt performe that right,
And al my fortunes at thy foote il'e lay, 170
And follow thee my Lord through out the world.

_Ro_: Loue goes toward loue like schoole boyes from their bookes,
But loue from loue, to schoole with heauie lookes.

_Iul: Romeo, Romeo_, O for a falkners voice,
To lure this Tassell gentle backe againe: 175
Bondage is hoarse and may not crie aloud,
Els would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies
And make her airie voice as hoarse as mine,
With repetition of my _Romeos_ name.
_Romeo?_ 180

_Ro_: It is my soule that calles vpon my name,
How siluer sweet sound louers tongues in night.

_Iul_: Romeo?

_Ro_: Madame.

_Iul_: At what a clocke to morrow shall I send? 185

_Ro_: At the houre of nine.

_Iul_: I will not faile, tis twentie yeares till then.
_Romeo_ I haue forgot why I did call thee backe.

_Rom_: Let me stay here till you remember it.

_Iul_: I shall forget to haue thee still staie here, 190
Remembring how I loue thy companie.

_Rom_: And il'e stay still to haue thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

_Iu_: Tis almost morning I would haue thee gone,
But yet no further then a wantons bird, 195
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a pore prisoner in his twisted giues,
And with a silke thred puls it backe againe,
Too louing iealous of his libertie.

_Ro_: Would I were thy bird. 200

_Iul_: Sweet so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherrishing thee.
Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

_Rom_: Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace on thy breast, 205
I would that I were sleep and peace of sweet to rest.
Now will I to my Ghostly fathers Cell,
His help to craue, and my good hap to tell.

[Sidenote: [SC. VII.]]

_Enter Frier Francis._

_Frier_: The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night,
Checkring the Easterne clouds with streakes of light,
And flecked darkenes like a drunkard reeles,
From forth daies path, and _Titans_ fierie wheeles:
Now ere the Sunne aduance his burning eye, 5
The world to cheare, and nights darke dew to drie.
We must vp fill this oasier Cage of ours,
With balefull weeds, and precious iuyced flowers.
Oh mickle is the powerfull grace that lies
In hearbes, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 10
For nought so vile, that vile on earth doth liue,
But to the earth some speciall good doth giue:
Nor nought so good, but straind from that faire use,
Reuolts to vice and stumbles on abuse:
Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied, 15
And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rinde of this small flower,
Poyson hath residence, and medecine power:
For this being smelt too, with that part cheares ech hart,
Being tasted slaies all sences with the hart. 20
Two such opposed foes incampe them still,
In man as well as herbes, grace and rude will,
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soone the canker death eats vp that plant.

_Rom_: Good morrow to my Ghostly Confessor. 25

_Fri: Benedicite_, what earlie tongue so soone saluteth me?
Yong sonne it argues a distempered head,
So soone to bid good morrow to my bed.
Care keepes his watch in euerie old mans eye,
And where care lodgeth, sleep can neuer lie: 30
But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braines
Doth couch his limmes, there golden sleepe remaines:
Therefore thy earlines doth me assure,
Thou art vprows'd by some distemperature.
Or if not so, then here I hit it right 35
Our _Romeo_ hath not bin a bed to night.

_Ro_: The last was true, the sweeter rest was mine.

_Fr_: God pardon sin, wert thou with _Rosaline_?

_Ro_: With _Rosaline_ my Ghostly father no,
I haue forgot that name, and that names woe. 40

_Fri_: Thats my good sonne: but where hast thou bin then?

_Ro_: I tell thee ere thou aske it me againe,
I haue bin feasting with mine enemie:
Where on the sodaine one hath wounded mee
Thats by me wounded, both our remedies
With in thy help and holy phisicke lies,
I beare no hatred blessed man: for loe
My intercession likewise steades my foe.

_Frier_: Be plaine my sonne and homely in thy drift,
Ridling confession findes but ridling shrift. 50

_Rom_: Then plainely know my harts deare loue is set
On the faire daughter of rich _Capulet_:
As mine on hers, so hers likewise on mine,
And all combind, saue what thou must combine
By holy marriage: where, and when, and how, 55
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vowes,
Il'e tell thee as I passe: But this I pray,
That thou consent to marrie vs to day.

_Fri_: Holy _S. Francis_, what a change is here?
Is R_osaline_ whome thou didst loue so deare 60
So soone forsooke, lo yong mens loue then lies
Not truelie in their harts, but in their eyes.
_Iesu Maria_, what a deale of brine
Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for _Rosaline_?
How much salt water cast away in waste, 65
To season loue, that of loue doth not taste.
The sunne not yet thy sighes from heauen cleares,
Thy old grones ring yet in my ancient eares,
And loe vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit,
Of an old teare that is not washt off yet. 70
If euer thou wert thus, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for _Rosaline_,
And art thou changde, pronounce this sentence then
Women may fal, when ther's no strength in men.

_Rom_: Thou chidst me oft for louing _Rosaline_. 75

_Fr_: For doating, not for louing, pupill mine.

_Rom_: And badst me burie loue.

_Fr_: Not in a graue,
To lay one in another out to haue.

_Rom_: I pree thee chide not, she whom I loue now 80
Doth grace for grace, and loue for loue allow:
The other did not so.

_Fr_: Oh she knew well
Thy loue did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come young Wauerer, come goe with mee, 85
In one respect Ile thy assistant bee:
For this alliaunce may so happie proue,
To turne your Housholds rancour to pure loue. _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. VIII.]]

_Enter Mercutio, Benuolio._

_Mer_: Why whats become of _Romeo?_ came he not home to night?

_Ben_: Not to his Fathers, I spake with his man.

_Mer_: Ah that same pale hard hearted wench, that _Rosaline_,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

_Mer: Tybalt_ the Kinsman of olde _Capolet_ 5
Hath sent a Letter to his Fathers House:
Some Challenge on my life.

_Ben: Romeo_ will answere it.

_Mer_: I, anie man that can write may answere a letter.

_Ben_: Nay, he will answere the letters master if hee bee
challenged. 10

_Mer_: Who, _Romeo_? why he is alreadie dead: stabd
with a white wenches blacke eye, shot thorough the eare
with a loue song, the verie pinne of his heart cleft with the
blinde bow-boyes but-shaft. And is he a man to encounter
_Tybalt_? 15

_Ben_: Why what is _Tybalt?_

_Mer_: More than the prince of cattes I can tell you. Oh
he is the couragious captaine of complements. Catso, he
fightes as you sing pricke-song, keepes time dystance and
proportion, rests me his minum rest one two and the thirde 20
in your bosome, the very butcher of a silken button, a Duellist
a Duellist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first
and second cause, ah the immortall Passado, the Punto reuerso,
the Hay.

_Ben_: The what? 25

_Me_: The Poxe of such limping antique affecting fantasticoes
these new tuners of accents. By Iesu a very good
blade, a very tall man, a very good whoore. Why graundsir
is not this a miserable case that we should be stil afflicted
with these strange flies: these fashionmongers, these pardonmees, 30
that stand so much on the new forme, that they
cannot sitte at ease on the old bench. Oh their bones, theyr
bones.

_Ben._ Heere comes _Romeo_.

_Mer_: Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh flesh 35
how art thou fishified. Sirra now is he for the numbers that
_Petrarch_ flowdin: _Laura_ to his Lady was but a kitchin
drudg, yet she had a better loue to berime her: Dido a dowdy
Cleopatra a Gypsie, _Hero_ and _Hellen_ hildings and harletries:
_Thisbie_ a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior 40
_Romeo_ bon iour, there is a French curtesie to your French
slop: yee gaue vs the counterfeit fairely yesternight.

_Rom_: What counterfeit I pray you?

_Me_: The slip the slip, can you not conceiue?

_Rom_: I cry you mercy my busines was great, and in such 45
a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie.

_Mer_: Oh thats as much to say as such a case as yours wil
constraine a man to bow in the hams.

_Rom_: A most curteous exposition.

_Me_: Why I am the very pinke of curtesie. 50

_Rom_: Pinke for flower?

_Mer_: Right.

_Rom_: Then is my Pumpe well flour'd:

_Mer_: Well said, follow me nowe that iest till thou hast
worne out thy Pumpe, that when the single sole of it is worn 55
the iest may remaine after the wearing solie singuler.

_Rom_: O single soald iest solie singuler for the singlenes.

_Me_: Come between vs good _Benuolio_, for my wits faile.

_Rom_: Swits and spurres, swits & spurres, or Ile cry a match.

_Mer_: Nay if thy wits runne the wildgoose chase, I haue 60
done: for I am sure thou hast more of the goose in one of
thy wits, than I haue in all my fiue: Was I with you there for
the goose?

_Rom_: Thou wert neuer with me for any thing, when
thou wert not with me for the goose. 65

_Me_: Ile bite thee by the eare for that iest.

_Rom_: Nay good goose bite not.

_Mer_: Why thy wit is a bitter sweeting, a most sharp sauce

_Rom_: And was it not well seru'd in to a sweet goose?

_Mer_: Oh heere is a witte of Cheuerell that stretcheth 70
from an ynch narrow to an ell broad.

_Rom_: I stretcht it out for the word broad, which added to
the goose, proues thee faire and wide a broad goose.

_Mer_: Why is not this better now than groning for loue?
why now art thou sociable, now art thou thy selfe, nowe art 75
thou what thou art, as wel by arte as nature. This driueling
loue is like a great naturall, that runs vp and downe to hide
his bable in a hole.

_Ben_: Stop there.

_Me_: Why thou wouldst haue me stopp my tale against 80
the haire.

_Ben_: Thou wouldst haue made thy tale too long?

_Mer_: Tut man thou art deceiued, I meant to make it
short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale? and
meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. 85

_Rom_: Heers goodly geare.

_Enter Nurse and her man._

_Mer_: A saile, a saile, a saile.

_Ben_: Two, two, a shirt and a smocke.

_Nur: Peter_, pree thee giue me my fan.

_Mer_: Pree thee doo good _Peter_, to hide her face: for 90
her fanne is the fairer of the two.

_Nur_: God ye goodmorrow Gentlemen.

_Mer_: God ye good den faire Gentlewoman.

_Nur_: Is it godyegooden I pray you.

_Mer_: Tis no lesse I assure you, for the baudie hand of 95
the diall is euen now vpon the pricke of noone.

_Nur_: Fie, what a man is this?

_Rom_: A Gentleman Nurse, that God hath made for
himselfe to marre.

_Nur_: By my troth well said: for himselfe to marre 100
quoth he? I pray you can anie of you tell where one maie
finde yong _Romeo_?

_Rom_: I can: but yong _Romeo_ will bee elder when you
haue found him, than he was when you sought him. I am
the yongest of that name for fault of a worse. 105

_Nur_: Well said.

_Mer_: Yea, is the worst well? mas well noted, wisely,
wisely.

_Nu_: If you be he sir, I desire some conference with ye.

_Ben_: O, belike she meanes to inuite him to supper. 110

_Mer_: So ho. A baud, a baud, a baud.

_Rom_: Why what hast found man?

_Mer_: No hare sir, vnlesse it be a hare in a lenten pye,
that is somewhat stale and hoare ere it be eaten.

_He walkes by them, and sings._

And an olde hare hore, and an olde hare hore 115
is verie good meate in Lent:
But a hare thats hoare is too much for a score,
if it hore ere it be spent.

Youl come to your fathers to supper?

_Rom_: I will. 120

_Mer_: Farewell ancient Ladie, farewell sweete Ladie.

_Exeunt Benuolio, Mercutio._

_Nur_: Marry farewell. Pray what saucie merchant was
this that was so full of his roperipe?

_Rom_: A gentleman Nurse that loues to heare himselfe
talke, and will speake more in an houre than hee will stand
to in a month. 125

_Nur_: If he stand to anie thing against mee, Ile take
him downe if he were lustier than he is: if I cannot take him
downe, Ile finde them that shall: I am none of his flurtgills,
I am none of his skaines mates. 130

_She turnes to Peter her man._

And thou like a knaue must stand by, and see euery Iacke
vse me at his pleasure.

_Pet_: I see no bodie vse you at his pleasure, if I had, I
would soone haue drawen: you know my toole is as soone
out as anothers if I see time and place. 135

_Nur_: Now afore God he hath so vext me, that euerie
member about me quiuers: scuruie Iacke. But as I said, my
Ladie bad me seeke ye out, and what shee bad me tell yee,
that Ile keepe to my selfe: but if you should lead her into a
fooles paradice as they saye, it were a verie grosse kinde of 140
behauiour as they say, for the Gentlewoman is yong. Now
if you should deale doubly with her, it were verie weake
dealing, and not to be offered to anie Gentlewoman.

_Rom_: Nurse, commend me to thy Ladie, tell her I
protest. 145

_Nur_: Good heart: yfaith Ile tell her so: oh she will be
a ioyfull woman.

_Rom_: Why, what wilt thou tell her?

_Nur_: That you doo protest: which (as I take it) is a
Gentlemanlike proffer. 150

_Rom_: Bid her get leaue to morrow morning
To come to shrift to Frier _Laurence_ cell:
And stay thou Nurse behinde the Abbey wall,
My man shall come to thee, and bring along
The cordes, made like a tackled staire, 155
Which to the high top-gallant of my ioy
Must be my conduct in the secret night.
Hold, take that for thy paines.

_Nur_: No, not a penie truly.

_Rom_: I say you shall not chuse. 160

_Nur_: Well, to morrow morning she shall not faile.

_Rom_: Farewell, be trustie, and Ile quite thy paine. _Exit._

_Nur: Peter_, take my fanne, and goe before. _Ex. omnes._

[Sidenote: [SC. IX.]]

_Enter Iuliet._

_Jul_: The clocke stroke nine when I did send my Nursse
In halfe an houre she promist to returne.
Perhaps she cannot finde him. Thats not so.
Oh she is lazie, Loues heralds should be thoughts,
And runne more swift, than hastie powder fierd, 5
Doth hurrie from the fearfull Cannons mouth.

_Enter Nurse._

Oh now she comes. Tell me gentle Nurse,
What sayes my Loue?

_Nur_: Oh I am wearie, let mee rest a while. Lord how
my bones ake. Oh wheres my man? Giue me some aqua 10
vitæ.

_Iul_: I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy newes.

_Nur_: Fie, what a iaunt haue I had: and my backe a tother
side. Lord, Lord, what a case am I in.

_Jul_: But tell me sweet Nurse, what sayes _Romeo_? 15

_Nur: Romeo_, nay, alas you cannot chuse a man. Hees
no bodie, he is not the Flower of curtesie, he is not a proper
man: and for a hand, and a foote, and a baudie, wel go thy
way wench, thou hast it ifaith. Lord, Lord, how my head
beates? 20

_Iul_: What of all this? tell me what sayes he to our
mariage?

_Nur_: Marry he sayes like an honest Gentleman, and a
kinde, and I warrant a vertuous: wheres your Mother?

_Iul_: Lord, Lord, how odly thou repliest? He saies like a 25
kinde Gentleman, and an honest, and a vertuous; wheres
your mother?

_Nur_: Marry come vp, cannot you stay a while? is this
the poultesse for mine aking boanes? next arrant youl haue
done, euen doot your selfe. 30

_Iul_: Nay stay sweet Nurse, I doo intreate thee now,
What sayes my Loue, my Lord, my _Romeo_?

_Nur_: Goe, hye you straight to Friar _Laurence_ Cell,
And frame a scuse that you must goe to shrift:
There stayes a Bridegroome to make you a Bride. 35
Now comes the wanton blood vp in your cheekes,
I must prouide a ladder made of cordes,
With which your Lord must clime a birdes nest soone.
I must take paines to further your delight,
But you must beare the burden soone at night. 40
Doth this newes please you now?

_Iul_: How doth her latter words reuiue my hart.
Thankes gentle Nurse, dispatch thy busines,
And Ile not faile to meete my _Romeo_. _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. X.]]

_Enter Romeo, Frier._

_Rom_: Now Father _Laurence_, in thy holy grant
Consists the good of me and _Iuliet_.

_Fr_: Without more words I will doo all I may,
To make you happie if in me it lye.

_Rom_: This morning here she pointed we should meet, 5
And consumate those neuer parting bands,
Witnes of our harts loue by ioyning hands.
And come she will.

_Fr_: I gesse she will indeed,
Youths loue is quicke, swifter than swiftest speed. 10

_Enter Iuliet somewhat fast, and embraceth Romeo._

See where she comes.
So light of foote nere hurts the troden flower:
Of loue and ioy, see see the soueraigne power.

_Iul: Romeo._

_Rom_: My _Iuliet_ welcome. As doo waking eyes 15
(Cloasd in Nights mysts) attend the frolicke Day,
So _Romeo_ hath expected _Iuliet_,
And thou art come.

_Jul_: I am (if I be Day)
Come to my Sunne: shine foorth, and make me faire. 20

_Rom_: All beauteous fairnes dwelleth in thine eyes.

_Iul: Romeo_ from thine all brightnes doth arise.

_Fr_: Come wantons, come, the stealing houres do passe
Defer imbracements till some fitrer time,
Part for a while, you shall not be alone, 25
Till holy Church haue ioynd ye both in one.

_Rom_: Lead holy Father, all delay seemes long.

_Iul_: Make hast, make hast, this lingring doth vs wrong.

_Fr_: O, soft and faire makes sweetest worke they say.
Hast is a common hindrer in crosse way. _Exeunt omnes._ 30

[Sidenote: [SC. XI.]]

_Enter Benuolio, Mercutio._

_Ben_: I pree thee good _Mercutio_ lets retire,
The day is hot, the _Capels_ are abroad.

_Mer_: Thou art like one of those, that when hee comes
into the confines of a tauerne, claps me his rapier on the
boord, and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by 5
the operation of the next cup of wine, he drawes it on the
drawer, when indeed there is no need.

_Ben_: Am I like such a one?

_Mer_: Go too, thou art as hot a Iacke being mooude,
and as soone mooude to be moodie, and as soone moodie to 10
be mooud.

_Ben_: And what too?

_Mer_: Nay, and there were two such, wee should haue
none shortly. Didst not thou fall out with a man for cracking
of nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hadst 15
hasill eyes? what eye but such an eye would haue pickt out
such a quarrell? With another for coughing, because hee
wakd thy dogge that lay a sleepe in the Sunne? With a
Taylor for wearing his new dublet before Easter: and
with another for tying his new shoes with olde ribands.
And yet thou wilt forbid me of quarrelling.

_Ben_: By my head heere comes a _Capolet_.

_Enter Tybalt._

_Mer_: By my heele I care not.

_Tyb_: Gentlemen a word with one of you.

_Mer_: But one word with one of vs? You had best couple 25
it with somewhat, and make it a word and a blow.

_Tyb_: I am apt enough to that if I haue occasion.

_Mer_: Could you not take occasion?

_Tyb: Mercutio_ thou consorts with _Romeo_?

_Mer_: Consort. Zwounes consort? the slaue wil make fidlers 30
of vs. If you doe sirra, look for nothing but discord: For
heeres my fiddle-sticke.

_Enter Romeo._

_Tyb_: Well peace be with you, heere comes my man.

_Mer_: But Ile be hanged if he weare your lyuery: Mary
go before into the field, and he may be your follower, so in 35
that sence your worship may call him man.

_Tyb: Romeo_ the hate I beare to thee can affoord no better
words then these, thou art a villaine.

_Rom: Tybalt_ the loue I beare to thee, doth excuse the
appertaining rage to such a word: villaine am I none, therfore 40
I well perceiue thou knowst me not.

_Tyb_: Bace boy this cannot serue thy turne, and therefore
drawe.

_Ro_: I doe protest I neuer iniured thee, but loue thee better
than thou canst deuise, till thou shall know the reason of 45
my loue.

_Mer_: O dishonorable vile submission. _Allastockado_ caries
it away. You Ratcatcher, come backe, come backe.

_Tyb_: What wouldest with me?

_Mer_: Nothing King of Cates, but borrow one of your 50
nine liues, therefore come drawe your rapier out of your
scabard, least mine be about your eares ere you be aware.

_Rom_: Stay _Tibalt_, hould _Mercutio: Benuolio_ beate
downe their weapons.

_Tibalt vnder Romeos arme thrusts Mercutio,_
_in and flyes._

_Mer_: Is he gone, hath hee nothing? A poxe on your 55
houses.

_Rom_: What art thou hurt man, the wound is not deepe.

_Mer_: Noe not so deepe as a Well, nor so wide as a
barne doore, but it will serue I warrant. What meant you to
come betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme. 60

_Rom_: I did all for the best.

_Mer_: Apoxe of your houses, I am fairely drest. Sirra
goe fetch me a Surgeon.

_Boy_: I goe my Lord.