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So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of Stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight;
I never saw true beauty 'till this night.

Tyb. This by his voice should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What! dares the slave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and scorn at our folemnity ?
Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman, wherefore storm

you so ?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montegue, our foe :
A villain, that is hither come in spight,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Cap. Young Romeo, is't?
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone';
He bears him like a portly 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 ;
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He shall be endur'd.
What, goodınan boy-I say, he shall. Go to
Am I the master here, or you? go to
You'll not endure him? God shall mend

my

soul. You'll make a mutiny among my guests? You will fit cock-a-hoop ? You'll be the man?

Tyb.

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fháme.

Cap. Go to, go to, You are a faucy boy-is't so, indeed This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what. You must contrary me ? Marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts :-You are a Princox, go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light, for shame I'll make you quiet What? cheerly, my hearts.

Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting, Makes my Aesh tremble in their different Greeting. I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Rom. ? If I profane with my unworthy hand

(TO Juliet. This holy shrine, the gentle Fine is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand,

To smooth that rough Touch with a tender kiss, Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too

much, Which mannerly devotion shews in this ; For Saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer,
Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands

do :
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

wortby band

7 If I propbane with my un nishment submitted to. So, Ro.

meo would here say, If I have This holy forine, the gentle Sin been profane in the rude touch is this,

of my hand, my lips stands reaMy lips, two blushing pilgrims, dy, as two blushing pilgrims, to &c.] All profanations are fup- take off that offence, to atone posd to be expiated either by for it by a sweet penance. Our fome meritorious action, or by poet therefore must have wrote, fome penance undergone and pu. the gentle Fine is this. WARB. Vol. VIII.

D

Jul.

you.

Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers'

sake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I

take : Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd.

[Kiling ber. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that late they took.

Rom. Sin from my lips! O trespass, sweetly urg'd ! Give me my sin again.

Jul. You kiss by th' book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with
Rom. What is ber mother?

To ber Nurse.
Nurje. Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs’d her daughter, that you talkt withal::
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

Ben. Away, be gone, the fport is at the best.
Rom, Ay, so I fear, the more is my unrest.

Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a triffing foolish banquet towards
Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank

you
I thank you, honeft gentlemen, good night :
More torches here come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late.
I'll to my Reft. .

[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yon gentleNurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door ? Nurse. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.' Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not dance ?

Nurse.

all.

man?

Nurse. I know not.

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 ;
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurfe. What's this ? what's this?

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet.

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

[Exeunt.

Enter CHORUS.

'.

Now old Desire doth on his death-bed lie,
And

young Affection gapes to be his heir; That Fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would

die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks : But to his foe suppos’d he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ; And she, as much in love, her means much less, To meet her new-beloved

any

where :

*CHORUS.) This choras add- of the play, but relates what is ed fince the firft edition. Pope. already known, or what the

Choru!. The use of this cho. next scenes will thew ; and relates rus is not eafily discovered, it it without adding the improveconduces nothing to the progress ment of any moral sentiment.

But

D 2

But Passion lends them power, Time means, to

meet; Temp’ring extremities with extreme sweet.

(Exit Chorus.

A CT II. SCEN E I.

The STREET.

Enter Romeo alone.

ROMEO.

CANA

ANI go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

[Exit.

Enter Benvolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my cousin Romeo.

Mer. He is wife, 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 ! humours ! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh, Speak but one Rhyme, and I am satisfied. Cry but Ab me ! couple but love and dove, Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

One

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