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.