 | Romeo and Juliet |  |
ACT II.
SCENE, a Garden.Enter Romeo alone.
How vainly have I spent this idle Night!
Even Wine can't heal the Raging of my Love.
This sure shou'd be the Mansion of fair Juliet,
For in such Groves the Deities first dwelt.
Can I grow forward, when my heart is here?
Turn back dull Earth and find thy Centre out.
[Juliet appears at her Window.
It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun!
She seems to hang upon the Cheek of Night,
Fairer than Snow upon a Raven's Back;
Brighter than Brilliants in an Æthiop's Ear.
Were she in yonder Sphere she'd shine so bright,
The Birds wou'd sing, and think the Day were breaking.
See, how she leans her Cheek upon her Hand!
Oh! that I were a Glove upon that Hand,
That I might touch that Cheek!
Juliet.
Ah! me.
Romeo.
She speaks!
Ah! speak again, bright Angel, for thou art
As glorious to this Night, being o'er my Head,
As is a winged Messenger from Heaven,
Unto the white up-turned wand'ring Eyes
Of Mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing Clouds,
And sails upon the Bosom of the Air.
Jul.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo!
Deny thy Father, and refuse thy Name:
Or, if thou wilt not,—be but sworn my Love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom.
Shall I hear this, and yet keep Silence?
[Aside.
Jul.
'Tis but thy Name that is my Enemy:
What's in a Name? That which we call a Rose,
By any other Name wou'd smell as sweet;
So Romeo wou'd, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear Perfection which he owes,
Without that Title; Romeo, quit thy Name;
And for that Name, which is no Part of thee,
Take all my self.
Rom.
I take thee at thy Word:
Call me but thine, and Joys will so transport me,
I shall forget myself, and quite be chang'd.
Jul.
What Man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in Night,
So stumblest on my Counsel?
By a Name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My Name, dear Saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an Enemy to thee.
Juliet.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Mountague?
Rom.
Neither, fair Saint, if either thee displease.
Jul.
How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The Orchard Walls are high, and hard to climb,
And the Place Death, considering who thou art,
If any of my Kinsmen find thee here.
Rom.
With Love's light Wings did I o'erperch these Walls,
For stony Limits cannot hold Love out:
Thy angry Kinsmen are no Stop to me.
Jul.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom.
Alas! there lies more Peril in thine Eye,
Than twenty of their Swords; look thou but kind,
And I am Proof against their Enmity.
Jul.
I wou'd not for the World they saw thee here.
Rom.
I have Night's Cloak to hide me from their Eyes,
And, but thou love me, let them find me here;
My Life were better ended, by their Hate,
Than Death prorogued, wanting of thy Love.
Jul.
By whose Direction found'st thou out this Place?
Rom.
By Love, that first did prompt me to enquire;
He lent me Counsel, and I lent him Eyes:
I am no Pilot, yet wer't thou as far
As that vast Shore, wash'd with the farthest Sea,
I wou'd adventure for such Merchandise.
Jul.
Thou know'st the Mask of Night is on my Face,
Else wou'd a Maiden-Blush bepaint my Cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak To-night.
Fain wou'd I dwell on Form; fain, fain deny
What I have spoke—But, farewell, Compliment!
Do'st thou love me? I know thou wilt say Aye;
And I will take thy Word—Yet if thou swear'st,
They say, Jove laughs. Oh! gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if you think I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee Nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the World.
In Truth, sweet Mountague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my 'Haviour light:
But trust me, Gentleman, I'll prove more true,
Than those that have more cunning to be strange,
I shou'd have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware,
My true Love's Passion; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light Love,
Which the dark Night hath so discover'd.
Rom.
Lady, by yonder blessed Moon I vow,
That tips with Silver all these Fruit-Tree Tops—
Jul.
Oh! swear not by the Moon, th'inconstant Moon,
That monthly changes in her circled Orb;
Lest that thy Love prove likewise variable.
Rom.
What shall I swear by?
Jul.
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Who art the God of my Idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom.
If my Heart's true Love—
Jul.
Well, do not swear—altho' I joy in thee,
I have no Joy of this Contract To-night;
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden,
Too like the Light'ning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say it lightens—Sweet, Good-night.
This Bud of Love, by Summer's rip'ning Breath,
May prove a beauteous Flower, when next we meet.
Good-night, Good-night,—as sweet Repose and Rest
Come to thy Heart, as that within my Breast!
Rom.
Why wilt thou leave me so unsatisfy'd?
Jul.
What Satisfaction canst thou have To-night?
Rom.
The Exchange of thy Love's faithful Vow for mine.
I gave thee mine before thou did'st request it:
And yet I wish it were to give again.
Romeo.
Wou'dst thou withdraw it? for what Purpose, Love?
Jul.
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
My Bounty is as boundless as the Sea,
My Love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have; for both are Infinite.
I hear some Noise within; dear Love, adieu.
[Nurse within. What Juliet! Child!
Anon, good Nurse—Sweet Mountague be true:
Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Exit.
Rom.
O blessed! blessed Night! I am afraid,
All this is but a Dream I hear, and see;
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter Juliet above.
Jul.
Three Words, dear Romeo, and Good-night indeed:
If that thy Bent of Love be honourable,
Thy Purpose Marriage, send me word To-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee;
Where, and what Time thou wilt perform the Rite,
And all my Fortunes at thy Foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my Love, throughout the World.
[Within. Madam.
I come anon—But if thou mean'st not well—
I do beseech thee— [Within. Madam.]
by and by I come,
To cease thy Suit, and leave me to my Grief.
To-morrow I will send.
Rom.
So thrive my Soul.
Jul.
A thousand times Good-night.
[Exit Juliet.
Rom.
Ten thousand Blessings wait thy Innocence.
[Exit Romeo.
Re-enter Juliet above.
Jul.
Hist! Romeo, hist! O! for a Falkner's Voice,
To lure this Tassel gentle back again—
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud,
Else wou'd I tear the Cave where Eccho lies,
With Repetition of my Romeo.
Romeo returns.
Rom.
It is my Love that calls upon my Name;
How Silver-sweet sound Lovers Tongues by Night,
Like softest Musick to attending Ears!
Jul.
Romeo!
Rom.
My sweet!
Jul.
At what o'Clock To-morrow,
Shall I send to thee?
Rom.
By the Hour of Nine.
Jul.
I will not fail; 'tis twenty Years till then—
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
Jul.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there;
Rememb'ring how I love thy Company.
Rom.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget;
Forgetting any other Home but this.
Jul.
'Tis almost Morning. I would have thee gone,
And yet no farther than a Wanton's Bird,
That lets it hop a little from her Hand,
Like a poor Pris'ner in his twisted Gyves,
And with a Silk-Thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his Liberty.
Rom.
I wou'd I were thy Bird.
Jul.
Sweet, so wou'd I;
Yet I shou'd kill thee with too much cherishing.
Good-night, Good-night:—Parting is such sweet Sorrow,
That I shall say Good-night till it be Morrow.
[Exit.
Rom.
To-morrow, 'tis no longer; but Desires are swift,
And longing Love wou'd lavish Time:
To-morrow! Oh! To-morrow! till that come
The tedious Hours move heavily away,
And each long Minute is a lazy Day.
[Exit.
Enter Friar Laurence, with a Basket.
Fri.
The grey-ey'd Morn smiles on the frowning Night,
Check'ring the Eastern Clouds with Streaks of Light.
Now, ere the Sun advance his burning Eye,
The Day to cheer, and Night's dank Dew to dry,
I must fill up this Osier Cage of ours,
With baleful Weeds, and precious juicy Flowers.
Mighty is the powerful Grace that lies
In Herbs, Trees, Stones, and their true Qualities:
For nought so vile that on the Earth doth live,
But to the Earth some special Good doth give:
Nor ought so good, but strain'd from that fair Use,
Revolts to Vice, and stumbles on Abuse.
Enter Romeo.
Rom.
Good-morrow, Father.
Fri.
Benedicite!
What early Tongue so sweet salutes my Ear?
Young Son, it argues a distemper'd Head,
So soon to bid Good-morrow;
Care keeps his Watch in every old Man's Eye,
And where Care lodgeth Sleep will rarely come;
But where Youth with unstuff'd Brain doth couch
His Limbs, there Health will hold his Court.
Say, Romeo, hast thou been in Bed To-night?
Rom.
No, Father; yet the sweeter Rest was mine.
Fri.
Where hast thou been?
Rom.
I have been feasting with my Enemy,
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our Remedies
Within thy Help, and holy Physick lies:
I bear no Hatred, blessed Man, for know,
My Intercession likewise steads my Foe.
Fri.
Be plain, good Son, and homely in thy Drift;
Riddling Confession finds but riddling Shrift.
Then plainly know my Heart's dear Love is fix'd
On the fair Daughter of rich Capulet,
And her's on mine:—When, and where, and how
We met, we woo'd, and did our Vows exchange,
Shall be related to thee instantly;
So thou consent to marry us this Day.
Fri.
Romeo, I love thee well: Come in with me:
With this good View, I'll thy Assistant be;
For this Alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your Houshold Rancour to pure Love.
Rom.
Quick let us hence; for Love is still in haste.
Fri.
Wisely, and slow; they stumble that run fast.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, the Street.
Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio.
Merc.
Where the Devil shou'd our Friend Romeo be?
Came he not home To night?
Beanv.
Not to his Father's; I spoke to his Man.
Merc.
Why, that same Cupid torments him so,
that he will sure run mad.
Benv.
Romeo scarce sleeps, or sleeping finds no Rest,
His Mind is so disturb'd with various Dreams.
Merc.
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with him:
She is the Fairies Mid-wife, and she comes
In Shape no bigger than an Agat-stone
On the Fore-finger of an Alderman,
Drawn with a Team of little Atomies,
Athwart Men's Noses as they lie asleep:
Her Waggon-Spokes made of long Spinners Legs;
The Cover, of the Wings of Grashoppers;
The Traces, of the smallest Spider's Web;
The Collars, of the Moon-shine's watry Beams;
Her Whip, of Cricket's Bone; the Lash, of Film;
Her Waggoner a small grey-coated Gnat,
Not half so big as a round little Worm,
Prickt from the lazy Finger of a Maid.
Her Chariot is an empty Hazel-nut,
Time out of Mind the Fairies Coach-makers.
Benv.
A pretty Equipage! But, to what End?
Merc.
Why, in this State she gallops Night by Night,
Through Lovers Brains, and then they dream of Love;
On Courtiers Knees, that dream on Court'sies strait:
O'er Lawyers Fingers, who strait dream on Fees:
O'er Ladies Lips, who strait on Kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with Blisters plagues,
Because their Breaths with Sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a Lawyer's Nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a Suit:
And sometimes comes she with a Tythe-pig's Tail,
Tickling the Parson as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another Benefice.
Benv.
Queen Mab has certainly paid thee a Visit,
Thou art so full of dreaming Phantasies.
Merc.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a Soldier's Neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign Throats,
Of Breaches, Ambuscades, Spanish Blades,
Of Healths five Fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his Ears, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a Prayer or two,
And sleeps again.
Rom.
Peace Mercutio, peace:
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Merc.
True, I talk of Dreams;
Which are the Children of an idle Brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain Phantasy,
Which is as thin of Substance as the Air,
And more unconstant than the Wind.
Benv.
Tybalt, the Kinsman to Old Capulet, hath
sent a Letter to Romeo's Father's House.
Merc.
A Challenge on my Life.
Benv.
Romeo will answer it.
Merc.
Any Man that can write, may answer a
Letter.
Benv.
Nay, he will answer the Letter's Master, if
he be challenged.
Alas! poor Romeo, he's already dead; stabb'd
with a white Wench's black Eye; run thro' the Ear
with a Love-Song; the very Pin of his Heart cleft with
the blind Boy's Bow-Shaft: And is he a Man to encounter
Tibalt?
Benv.
Why, what is Tibalt?
Merc.
More than the Prince of Cats: O he's the
couragious Captain of Compliments; he fights as you
sing prickt Songs; keeps Time, Distance, and Proportion;
rests his Minum, one, two, and the third in
your Bosom; the very Butcher of a Silk Button. A Duellist,
a Duellist; a Gentleman of the very first House,
of the first and second Cause: Ah! the immortal
Passado, the Punto, Reverso, the Hay!
Benv.
The what?
Merc.
Pox of such antick Lisping affected Phantasies;
these new Tuners of Accents: A very good
Blade!—a very tall Man! a very good Whore!—why
is not this a lamentable Thing, Grandsire, that we
shou'd be thus afflicted with these strange Flies, these
Fashion-mongers, these pardonnez moy's, who stand
so much on the new Form that they cannot sit at Ease,
on the old Bench: Oh! their Bon's! their Bon's!
Enter Romeo.
Benv.
Here comes Romeo.
Merc.
Without his Roe, like a dried Herring: Oh!
Flesh, Flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for
the Numbers that Petrarch flow'd in: Laura to his
Lady was but a Kitchen-wench; marry she had better
Love to berime her: Dido a Dowdy, Cleopatra a
Gipsy, Helen and Hero Hildings and Harlots: Thisby
a grey Eye or so; but not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo Bonjour; there's a French Salutation to your
French Stop.
Rom.
Good-morrow to you both!
Enter Nurse and Peter.
Nurse.
Peter!
Peter.
Anon.
Nurse.
My Fan Peter.
Do, good Peter, to hide her Face; for her
Fan is the fairer of the two
Nurse.
Give you Good-morrow, Gentlemen.
Merc.
Give you Good-e'en, fair Gentlewoman.
Nurse.
Is it Good-e'en.
Merc.
'Tis even so, good Lady.
Nurse.
Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where
I may find young Romeo?
Rom.
I am the youngest of that Name.
Nurse.
If you be he, Sir, I desire some Confidence
with you.
Benv.
She will indite, or invite him to a Supper.
Merc.
A Bawd, a Bawd: So ho! Romeo; will
you come to your Father's? We'll to Supper thither.
Rom.
I'll follow you.
Merc.
Farewell ancient Lady.
[Ex. Mercutio and Benvolio.
Nurse.
I pray you, Sir, what saucy Merchant was
that, was so full of his Roguery?
Rom.
A Gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear
himself talk; and will speak more in a Minute, than
he will stand to in a Month.
Nurse.
An he speak any thing against me, I'll
take him down, an he were lustier than he is, and
twenty such Jacks: And if I cannot, I'll find those
that shall, scurvy Knave! I am none of his flirt Gills.
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 keep to myself: But first let me tell you, if you
shou'd lead her into a Fool's Paradice, as they say, it
were a very gross kind of Behaviour as they say; for
the Gentlewoman is young, and therefore if you shou'd
deal double with her truly it were an ill thing to be
offer'd to any Gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Rom.
Commend me to thy Lady and Mistress—I
protest unto thee
Nurse.
Good Heart, and i'faith I'll tell her as much.
Lord, Lord, she'll be a joyful Woman.
Rom.
What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? thou dost
not mark me,
I will tell her Sir, that you do protest; which
as I take it is a Gentleman-like Offer.
Rom.
Bid her devise some Means to come to shrift
this Afternoon; and there she shall at Friar Laurence
Cell be shrived and married: Here is for thy
Pains.
Nurse.
No truly, Sir, not a Penny.
Rom.
Go to, I say, you shall.
Nurse.
This Afternoon, Sir? Well, she shall be
there.
Rom.
And stay, good Nurse, behind the Abbey Wall:
Within this Hour my Man shall be with thee,
And bring thee Cords made like a tackled Stair,
Which to the high Top-gallant of my Joy
Must be my Convoy in the secret Night.
Farewell, be trusty, and I'll quit thy Pains.
Nurse.
Now Heaven bless thee! Harkee Sir!
Rom.
What say'st thou, my dear Nurse?
Nurse.
Is your Page secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep Council, putting one away?
Rom.
I warrant thee, the Lad's as true as Steel
Nurse.
Well Sir, my Mistress is the sweetest Lady,
Lord! Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing—
Oh! there's a Nobleman in Town, one Paris that
wou'd fain lay Knife a-board; but she, good Soul,
had as lieve see a Toad, a very Toad, as see him: I
anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the
properer Man; but I'll warrant you, when I say so,
she looks as pale as any Clout in the versal World.
Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a
Letter.
Rom.
Aye Nurse! what of that? Both with an R.
Nurse.
Aye Mocker! that's the Dog's name. R
is for thee. No, I know it begins with no other Letter;
and she hath the prettiest Sententions of it, of
you, and Rosemary; that it wou'd do you good to
hear it.
Rom.
Commend me to thy Lady
[Exit. Romeo.
Nurse.
A thousand times. Peter.
Anon
Nurse.
Take my Fan, and go before.
[Exeunt.
SCENE Capulet's House
Enter Juliet.
Jul.
The Clock struck Nine, when I did send the Nurse;
In half an Hour she promis'd to return:
Perchance she cannot meet him—that's not so.
She is old and lame: Love's Heralds shou'd be Thoughts,
Which ten Times faster glide, than the Sun Beams,
Driving back Shadows over low'ring Hills.
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd Doves draw Love;
And therefore hath the swift-wing'd Cupid Wings.
Now is the Sun upon the highmost Hill
Of this Day's Journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long Hours—and yet she is not come;
Had she Affections, and warm youthful Blood,
She'd be as swift in Motion as a Ball;
My Words would bandy her to my sweet Love,
And his to me.
Enter Nurse.
O! she comes, what News?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy Man away.
Nurse.
Peter, stay at the Gate.
Jul.
How now, sweet Nurse,
O Lord! why look'st thou sad?
Nurse.
I am a-weary, let me rest a while: Fie how
my Bones ake! what a jaunt have I had?
Jul.
I wou'd thou had'st my Bones, and I thy News:
Nay, come, I pray thee speak, good Nurse, speak.
Nurse.
Give me some Aquavitæ.
Enter Peter with a Bottle and Cup.
Jul.
Is thy News good or bad? Answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the Circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is it good or bad?
Nurse.
Well; you have made a simple Choice;
you know not how to chuse a Man—Romeo! no
yet his Legs excel all Men's; and for a Hand, and a
Foot, and a Body; tho' they be not to be talk'd on,
yet they are past Compare; he is not the Flower of
Courtesy, but I warrant him as gentle as a Lamb.
Go thy ways, Wench, say thy Prayers. What, have
you dined at home?
Jul.
No, no,—but all this did I know before:
What says he of our Marriage? What of that?
Nurse.
Lord how my Head akes! what a Head
have I! it beats as it wou'd fall in twenty Pieces!
my Back a-t'other Side; O my Back, my Back!
Beshrew your Heart, for sending me about to catch
my Death, with jauuting up and down.
Jul.
I'faith, I am sorry that thou art so ill,
Do, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my Love?
Nurse.
Your Love says like an honest Gentleman,
and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and I
warrant a virtuous Gentleman—Where is your
Mother?
Jul.
Where is your Mother? Why, she is within:
Where shou'd she be? How odly thou reply'st!
Your Love says like an honest Gentleman:
Where is your Mother?—
Nurse.
O Lady dear!
Are you so hot? marry come up I trow:
Is this the Poultice for my aking Bones?
Hence-forward do your Messages yourself.
Jul.
Here's such a Coil: Come, what says Romeo?
Nurse.
Have you got leave to go to shrift To-day?
Jul.
I have.
Nurse.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence Cell,
There stays a Husband to make you a Wife:
Now comes the wanton Blood up in your Cheeks;
They'll be in Scarlet strait at any News:
Hie you to Church. I must another way,
To fetch a Ladder, by the which your Love
Must climb a Bird's Nest soon, when it is dark.
I am the Drudge, and toil in your Delight,
But you shall bear the Burden soon at Night.
[Exit.
Jul.
With Wings of Love I fly; good Nurse, farewell.
[Exit.
SCENE, the Monastery, &c.
Friar Laurence, and Romeo.
Friar.
So smile the Heavens upon the holy Act,
That after Hours of Sorrow chide us not.
Rom.
Amen, Amen: But come what Sorrow can,
It cannot countervail th'Exchange of Joy,
That one short Minute gives me in her Sight:
Do thou but close our Hands with holy Words,
Then Love devouring Death do what he dare,
It is enough, I may but call her mine.
Fri.
These violent Delights have violent Ends,
And in their Triumph die; like Fire and Powder,
Which as they meet, consume; the sweetest Honey
Is loathsome in its own Deliciousness,
And in the Taste destroys the Appetite:
Therefore love mod'rately; long Love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy, as too slow.
Enter Juliet.
Here comes the Lady—
Juliet.
Good-ev'n to my Ghostly Confessor.
Fri.
Romeo shall thank thee, Daughter, for us both.
Jul.
As much to him. Else are his Thanks too much.
Rom.
Ah! Juliet, if the Measures of thy Joy,
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy Skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy Breath
This neighb'ring Air; and let rich Musick's Tongue
Unfold th'imagin'd Happiness, that both
Receive in either, by this dear Encounter.
Jul.
Conceit more rich in Matter than in Words,
Brags of his Substance, not of Ornament:
They are but Beggars that can count their Worth;
I cannot sum up one half of my Wealth.
Fri.
Come, come with me, and we will make short Work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
'Till holy Rites incorp'rate two in one.
[Exeunt.
| Romeo and Juliet | |