Chapter 139

Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then she: Be not her Maid since she is enuious, Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were, She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answere it: I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen, Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright, That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night: See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke

Iul. Ay me

Rom. She speakes. Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre

Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father and refuse thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet

Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this? Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague, What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name Belonging to a man. What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweete, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd, Retaine that deare perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all my selfe

Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd, Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo

Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsell? Rom. By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe, Because it is an Enemy to thee, Had I it written, I would teare the word

Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike

Iul. How cam'st thou hither. Tell me, and wherefore? The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here, Rom. With Loues light wings Did I ore-perch these Walls, For stony limits cannot hold Loue out, And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me

Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee

Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye, Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmity

Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here

Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes And but thou loue me, let them finde me here, My life were better ended by their hate, Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue

Iul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By Loue that first did prompt me to enquire, He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes, I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea, I should aduenture for such Marchandise

Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face, Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke, For that which thou hast heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement, Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st, Thou maiest proue false: at Louers periuries They say Ioue laught, oh gentle Romeo, If thou dost Loue, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne, Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt wooe: But else not for the world. In truth faire Mountague I am too fond: And therefore thou maiest thinke my behauiour light, But trust me Gentleman, Ile proue more true, Then those that haue coying to be strange, I should haue beene more strange, I must confesse, But that thou ouer heard'st ere I was ware My true Loues passion, therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light Loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered

Rom. Lady, by yonder Moone I vow, That tips with siluer all these Fruite tree tops

Iul. O sweare not by the Moone, th' inconstant Moone, That monethly changes in her circled Orbe, Least that thy Loue proue likewise variable

Rom. What shall I sweare by? Iul. Do not sweare at all: Or if thou wilt sweare by thy gratious selfe, Which is the God of my Idolatry, And Ile beleeue thee

Rom. If my hearts deare loue

Iuli. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee: I haue no ioy of this contract to night, It is too rash, too vnaduis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning which doth cease to be Ere, one can say, it lightens, Sweete good night: This bud of Loue by Summers ripening breath, May proue a beautious Flower when next we meete: Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest, Come to thy heart, as that within my brest

Rom. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied? Iuli. What satisfaction can'st thou haue to night? Ro. Th' exchange of thy Loues faithfull vow for mine

Iul. I gaue thee mine before thou did'st request it: And yet I would it were to giue againe

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it, For what purpose Loue? Iul. But to be franke and giue it thee againe, And yet I wish but for the thing I haue, My bounty is as boundlesse as the Sea, My Loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee The more I haue, for both are Infinite: I heare some noyse within deare Loue adue:

Cals within.

Anon good Nurse, sweet Mountague be true: Stay but a little, I will come againe

Rom. O blessed blessed night, I am afear'd Being in night, all this is but a dreame, Too flattering sweet to be substantiall

Iul. Three words deare Romeo, And goodnight indeed, If that thy bent of Loue be Honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow, By one that Ile procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt performe the right, And all my Fortunes at thy foote Ile lay, And follow thee my Lord throughout the world

Within: Madam. I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee Within: Madam. (By and by I come) To cease thy strife, and leaue me to my griefe, To morrow will I send

Rom. So thriue my soule

Iu. A thousand times goodnight. Enter.

Rome. A thousand times the worse to want thy light, Loue goes toward Loue as school-boyes fro[m] their books But Loue fro[m] Loue, towards schoole with heauie lookes. Enter Iuliet againe.

Iul. Hist Romeo hist: O for a Falkners voice, To lure this Tassell gentle backe againe, Bondage is hoarse, and may not speake aloud, Else would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies, And make her ayrie tongue more hoarse, then With repetition of my Romeo

Rom. It is my soule that calls vpon my name. How siluer sweet, sound Louers tongues by night, Like softest Musicke to attending eares

Iul. Romeo

Rom. My Neece

Iul. What a clock to morrow Shall I send to thee? Rom. By the houre of nine

Iul. I will not faile, 'tis twenty yeares till then, I haue forgot why I did call thee backe

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it

Iul. I shall forget, to haue thee still stand there, Remembring how I Loue thy company

Rom. And Ile still stay, to haue thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this

Iul. 'Tis almost morning, I would haue thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poore prisoner in his twisted Gyues, And with a silken thred plucks it backe againe, So louing Iealous of his liberty

Rom. I would I were thy Bird

Iul. Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night

Rom. Parting is such sweete sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow

Iul. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace in thy brest

Rom. Would I were sleepe and peace so sweet to rest, The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Clouds with streakes of light, And darkenesse fleckel'd like a drunkard reeles, From forth dayes pathway, made by Titans wheeles. Hence will I to my ghostly Friers close Cell, His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell. Enter.

Enter Frier alone with a basket.

Fri. The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Cloudes with streaks of light: And fleckled darknesse like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans burning wheeles: Now ere the Sun aduance his burning eye, The day to cheere, and nights danke dew to dry, I must vpfill this Osier Cage of ours, With balefull weedes, and precious Iuiced flowers, The earth that's Natures mother, is her Tombe, What is her burying graue that is her wombe: And from her wombe children of diuers kind We sucking on her naturall bosome find: Many for many vertues excellent: None but for some, and yet all different. O mickle is the powerfull grace that lies In Plants, Hearbs, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile, that on earth doth liue, But to the earth some speciall good doth giue. Nor ought so good, but strain'd from that faire vse, Reuolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified. Enter Romeo.

Within the infant rind of this weake flower, Poyson hath residence, and medicine power: For this being smelt, with that part cheares each part, Being tasted stayes all sences with the heart. Two such opposed Kings encampe them still, In man as well as Hearbes, grace and rude will: And where the worser is predominant, Full soone the Canker death eates vp that Plant

Rom. Good morrow Father

Fri. Benedecite. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young Sonne, it argues a distempered head, So soone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed; Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye, And where Care lodges, sleepe will neuer lye: But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braine Doth couch his lims, there, golden sleepe doth raigne; Therefore thy earlinesse doth me assure, Thou art vprous'd with some distemprature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right. Our Romeo hath not beene in bed to night

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine

Fri. God pardon sin: wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly Father? No, I haue forgot that name, and that names woe

Fri. That's my good Son, but wher hast thou bin then? Rom. Ile tell thee ere thou aske it me agen: I haue beene feasting with mine enemie, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy helpe and holy phisicke lies: I beare no hatred, blessed man: for loe My intercession likewise steads my foe

Fri. Be plaine good Son, rest homely in thy drift, Ridling confession, findes but ridling shrift

Rom. Then plainly know my hearts deare Loue is set, On the faire daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin'd, saue what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where, and how, We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow: Ile tell thee as we passe, but this I pray, That thou consent to marrie vs to day

Fri. Holy S[aint]. Francis, what a change is heere? Is Rosaline that thou didst Loue so deare So soone forsaken? young mens Loue then lies Not truely in their hearts, but in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline? How much salt water throwne away in wast, To season Loue that of it doth not tast. The Sun not yet thy sighes, from heauen cleares, Thy old grones yet ringing in my auncient eares: Lo here vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit, Of an old teare that is not washt off yet. If ere thou wast thy selfe, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes, were all for Rosaline. And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men

Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for louing Rosaline

Fri. For doting, not for louing pupill mine

Rom. And bad'st me bury Loue

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

Rom. I pray thee chide me not, her I Loue now Doth grace for grace, and Loue for Loue allow: The other did not so

Fri. O she knew well, Thy Loue did read by rote, that could not spell: But come young wauerer, come goe with me, In one respect, Ile thy assistant be: For this alliance may so happy proue, To turne your houshould rancor to pure Loue

Rom. O let vs hence, I stand on sudden hast

Fri. Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast.

Exeunt.

Enter Benuolio and Mercutio.

Mer. Where the deule should this Romeo be? came he not home to night? Ben. Not to his Fathers, I spoke with his man

Mer. Why that same pale hard-harted wench, that Rosaline torments him so, that he will sure run mad

Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a Letter to his Fathers house

Mer. A challenge on my life

Ben. Romeo will answere it

Mer. Any man that can write, may answere a Letter

Ben. Nay, he will answere the Letters Maister how he dares, being dared

Mer. Alas poore Romeo, he is already dead stab'd with a white wenches blacke eye, runne through the eare with a Loue song, the very pinne of his heart, cleft with the blind Bowe-boyes but-shaft, and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why what is Tibalt? Mer. More then Prince of Cats. Oh hee's the Couragious Captaine of Complements: he fights as you sing pricksong, keeps time, distance, and proportion, he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a Dualist, a Dualist: 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? Mer. The Pox of such antique lisping affecting phantacies, these new tuners of accent: Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why is not this a lamentable thing Grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies: these fashion Mongers, these pardon-mee's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench. O their bones, their bones. Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo

Mer. Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady, was a kitchen wench, marrie she had a better Loue to berime her: Dido a dowdie, Cleopatra a Gipsie, Hellen and Hero, hildings and Harlots: Thisbie a gray eie or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, Bon iour, there's a French salutation to your French slop: you gaue vs the counterfait fairely last night

Romeo. Good morrow to you both, what counterfeit did I giue you? Mer. The slip sir, the slip, can you not conceiue? Rom. Pardon Mercutio, my businesse was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie

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

Rom. Meaning to cursie

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it

Rom. A most curteous exposition

Mer. Nay, I am the very pinck of curtesie

Rom. Pinke for flower

Mer. Right

Rom. Why then is my Pump well flowr'd

Mer. Sure wit, follow me this ieast, now till thou hast worne out thy Pump, that when the single sole of it is worne, the ieast may remaine after the wearing, sole-singular

Rom. O single sol'd ieast, Soly singular for the singlenesse

Mer. Come betweene vs good Benuolio, my wits faints

Rom. Swits and spurs, Swits and spurs, or Ile crie a match

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the Wild-Goose chase, I am done: For thou hast more of the Wild-Goose in one of thy wits, then I am sure I haue in my whole fiue. Was I with you there for the Goose? Rom. Thou wast neuer with mee for any thing, when thou wast not there for the Goose

Mer. I will bite thee by the eare for that iest

Rom. Nay, good Goose bite not

Mer. Thy wit is a very Bitter-sweeting, It is a most sharpe sawce

Rom. And is it not well seru'd into a Sweet-Goose? Mer. Oh here's a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches from an ynch narrow, to an ell broad

Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad, which added to the Goose, proues thee farre and wide, abroad Goose

Mer. Why is not this better now, then groning for Loue, now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou art, by Art as well as by Nature, for this driueling Loue is like a great Naturall, that runs lolling vp and downe to hid his bable in a hole

Ben. Stop there, stop there

Mer. Thou desir'st me to stop in my tale against the haire

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

Mer. O thou art deceiu'd, I would haue made it short, or I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. Enter Nurse and her man.

Rom. Here's a goodly geare. A sayle, a sayle

Mer. Two, two: a Shirt and a Smocke

Nur. Peter? Peter. Anon

Nur. My Fan Peter? Mer. Good Peter to hide her face? For her Fans the fairer face? Nur. God ye good morrow Gentlemen

Mer. God ye gooden faire Gentlewoman

Nur. Is it gooden? Mer. 'Tis no lesse I tell you: for the bawdy hand of the Dyall is now vpon the pricke of Noone

Nur. Out vpon you: what a man are you? Rom. One Gentlewoman, That God hath made, himselfe to mar

Nur. By my troth it is said, for himselfe to, mar quatha: Gentlemen, can any of you tel me where I may find the young Romeo? Romeo. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse

Nur. You say well

Mer. Yea is the worst well, Very well tooke: Ifaith, wisely, wisely

Nur. If you be he sir, I desire some confidence with you? Ben. She will endite him to some Supper

Mer. A baud, a baud, a baud. So ho

Rom. What hast thou found? Mer. No Hare sir, vnlesse a Hare sir in a Lenten pie, that is something stale and hoare ere it be spent. An old Hare hoare, and an old Hare hoare is very good meat in Lent. But a Hare that is hoare is too much for a score, when it hoares ere it be spent, Romeo will you come to your Fathers? Weele to dinner thither

Rom. I will follow you

Mer. Farewell auncient Lady: Farewell Lady, Lady, Lady.

Exit. Mercutio, Benuolio.

Nur. I pray you sir, what sawcie Merchant was this that was so full of his roperie? Rom. A Gentleman Nurse, that loues to heare himselfe talke, and will speake more in a minute, then he will stand to in a Moneth

Nur. And a speake any thing against me, Ile take him downe, z a were lustier then he is, and twentie such Iacks: and if I cannot, Ile finde those that shall: scuruie knaue, I am none of his flurt-gils, I am none of his skaines mates, and thou must stand by too and suffer euery knaue to vse me at his pleasure

Pet. I saw no man vse you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon should quickly haue beene out, I warrant you, I dare draw assoone as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrell, and the law on my side

Nur. Now afore God, I am so vext, that euery part about me quiuers, skuruy knaue: pray you sir a word: and as I told you, my young Lady bid me enquire you out, what she bid me say, I will keepe to my selfe: but first let me tell ye, if ye should leade her in a fooles paradise, as they say, it were a very grosse kind of behauiour, as they say: for the Gentlewoman is yong: & therefore, if you should deale double with her, truely it were an ill thing to be offered to any Gentlewoman, and very weake dealing

Nur. Nurse commend me to thy Lady and Mistresse, I protest vnto thee

Nur. Good heart, and yfaith I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord she will be a ioyfull woman

Rom. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou doest not marke me? Nur. I will tell her sir, that you do protest, which as I take it, is a Gentleman-like offer

Rom. Bid her deuise some meanes to come to shrift this afternoone, And there she shall at Frier Lawrence Cell Be shriu'd and married: here is for thy paines

Nur. No truly sir not a penny

Rom. Go too, I say you shall

Nur. This afternoone sir? well she shall be there

Ro. And stay thou good Nurse behind the Abbey wall, Within this houre my man shall be with thee, And bring thee Cords made like a tackled staire, Which to the high top gallant of my ioy, Must be my conuoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trustie and Ile quite thy paines: Farewell, commend me to thy Mistresse

Nur. Now God in heauen blesse thee: harke you sir, Rom. What saist thou my deare Nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret, did you nere heare say two may keepe counsell putting one away

Ro. Warrant thee my man is true as steele

Nur. Well sir, my Mistresse is the sweetest Lady, Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing. O there is a Noble man in Towne one Paris, that would faine lay knife aboard: but she good soule had as leeue see a Toade, a very Toade as see him: I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but Ile warrant you, when I say so, shee lookes as pale as any clout in the versall world. Doth not Rosemarie and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. I Nurse, what of that? Both with an R Nur. A mocker that's the dogs name. R. is for the no, I know it begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you good to heare it

Rom. Commend me to thy Lady

Nur. I a thousand times. Peter? Pet. Anon

Nur. Before and apace.

Exit Nurse and Peter.

Enter Iuliet.

Iul. The clocke strook nine, when I did send the Nurse, In halfe an houre she promised to returne, Perchance she cannot meete him: that's not so: Oh she is lame, Loues Herauld should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides then the Sunnes beames, Driuing backe shadowes ouer lowring hils. Therefore do nimble Pinion'd Doues draw Loue, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings: Now is the Sun vpon the highmost hill Of this daies iourney, and from nine till twelue, Is three long houres, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warme youthfull blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball, My words would bandy her to my sweete Loue, And his to me, but old folkes, Many faine as they were dead, Vnwieldie, slow, heauy, and pale as lead. Enter Nurse.

O God she comes, O hony Nurse what newes? Hast thou met with him? send thy man away

Nur. Peter stay at the gate

Iul. Now good sweet Nurse: O Lord, why lookest thou sad? Though newes, be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good thou sham'st the musicke of sweet newes, By playing it to me, with so sower a face

Nur. I am a weary, giue me leaue awhile, Fie how my bones ake, what a iaunt haue I had? Iul. I would thou had'st my bones, and I thy newes: Nay come I pray thee speake, good good Nurse speake