SCENE V.

A Hall in CAPULET'S House.

The CAPULETS, LADIES, GUESTS, and MASKERS are discovered.-Music plays.

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies, that have your feet

Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you. Who'll now deny to dance? She, that makes dainty, I'll swear hath corns.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, &c.

'tis

gone.

Welcome all, gentlemen; I've seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please; 'tis gone; 'tis gone;
More light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up;
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Rom. Cousin Benvolio, do you mark that lady
which

Doth enrich the hand of yonder gentleman ?

Ben. I do.

Rom. Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear;

I'll wait her to her place,

And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Be still, be still, my fluttering heart.

Tib. This, by his voice, should be a Montague,

What, dares the slave

Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,

To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my race,

To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap. Why how now, kinsman, wherefore storm you thus?

Tib. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn and butt at our solemnity.
Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tib. That villain, Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a courtly gentleman:
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not, for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house do him disparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no note of him.
Tib. It fits, when such a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He shall be endur'd.

Be quiet, cousin, or I'll make you quiet.—

Tib. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their difference. I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

[Exit TIBALT. Rom. If I profane, with my unworthy hand,

[To JULIET. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this. [Kiss. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much.

For palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss.

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in prayer. Rom. Thus then, dear saint, let lips put up their

prayers.

[Kiss.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with

you.

Mer. What is her mother?

Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

[To NURSE.

And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal:
I tell you, he, that can lay hold on her,
Shall have the chink.

Mer. Is she a Capulet?

Romeo, let's begone, the sport is over.

Rom. Ay, so I fear, the more is my mishap.
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to begone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it even so? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honest gentlemen, good night.
More torches here-come on, then let's to supper.

[Exit. Jul. Come hither, Nurse-What is yon gentleman? Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

[Exit BEN. Jul. What's he, that is now a-going out of door? Nurse. That, as I think, is young Mercutio.

Jul. What's he, that follows

Nurse. I know not.

[Exit MER. [Exit ROMEO.

Jul. Go, ask his name. If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague, The only son of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love, sprung from my only hate! Too early seen, unknown! and known too late. Nurse. What's this? what's this!

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd e'en now,

Of one I talk'd withal.

Nurse. Come, let's away, the strangers are all gone.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

The Street.

Enter BENVOLIO, with MERCUTIO.

Ben. Romeo, my cousin Romeo.

Mer. He is wise,

And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall.

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Why, Romeo! humour! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh.

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfy'd.
Cry but ah me! couple but love and dove,.
I conjure thee, by thy mistress's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip:
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him:

My invocation

Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,

I conjure only but to raise him up.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself amongst these

trees,

To be consorted with the hum'rous night.

Mer. Romeo, good night; I'll to my truckle bed, This field bed is too cold for me to sleep:

Come, shall we go ?

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound-But soft, what light thro' yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

It is my lady-Oh, it is my love!

Oh that she knew she were!

Her

JULIET appears above, at a Window.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
I will answer it;
discourses,
eye
I am too bold-Oh, were those eyes in Heav'n,
They'd through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were the morn:
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek !
Jul. Ah me!

Rom. She speaks, she speaks!

Oh, speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger from Heav'n,
To the upturned wond'ring eyes of mortals
When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds,
And sails
upon the bosom of the air.