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Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist !—O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle1 back again!

Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name;
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

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Jul. I will not fail;

At what o'clock to-morrow

At the hour of nine.
'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, Remembering 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 further than a wanton's bird;

Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I ;
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

1 The tassel, or tiercel (for so it should be spelled), is the male of the gosshawk, and is said to be so called because it is a tierce or third less than the female. This is equally true of all birds of prey. This species of hawk had the epithet of gentle annexed to it, from the ease with which it was tamed, and its attachment to man.

2 The quarto of 1597 puts the cold, distant, and formal appellation Madam, into the mouth of Romeo.-The two subsequent quartos and the folio have "my niece." "My sweet" is the reading of the second folio.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say, Good night, till it be morrow. [Exit. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy


'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

SCENE III. Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket.


Fri. The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,'

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels

From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels.3
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-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;
Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies

In herbs, plants, 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 aught so good, but, strained from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

1 In the folio, and the three later quartos, these four lines are printed twice over, and given once to Romeo and once to the friar.

2 Flecked is spotted, dappled, streaked, or variegated.

3 This is the reading of the second folio. The quarto of 1597 reads:"From forth day's path and Titan's firy wheels."

The quarto of 1599, and the folio, have "hurning wheels.”

4 Efficacious virtue.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower,
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power;
For this, being smelt, with that part1 cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,

Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Good morrow, father!



What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?—
Young son, it argues a distempered head,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
Care keeps his watch in every
old man's eye,

And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;

But where unbruised youth with unstuffed brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,

Thou art uproused by some distemperature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right—

Our Romeo hath not been 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 have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son; but where hast thou been, then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.

I have been feasting with mine enemy;

Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies.2

1 i. e. with its odor.

2 In the Anglo-Saxon and very old English, the third person plural of the present tense ends in eth, and often familiarly in es, as might be

I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.

As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;

And all combined, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When, and where, and how,
We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not washed off yet.
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;

And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then-
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.


To lay one in, another out to have.

Not in a grave,

Rom. I pray thee, chide not. She, whom I love now,

Doth grace for grace,

The other did not so.


and love for love allow;

O, she knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.

exemplified from Chaucer and others. This idiom was not worn out in Shakspeare's time.

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Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

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

Rom. Meaning-to courtesy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered.1

Mer. Well said. Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

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Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness.

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail. Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry

a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase,3 I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose ?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

1 Here is a vein of wit too thin to be easily found. The fundamental idea is, that Romeo wore pinked pumps; that is, punched with holes in figures. It was the custom to wear ribands in the shoes, formed in the shape of roses or other flowers.

2 Single-soled means simple, silly. "He is a good sengyll soule, and can do no harm; est doli nescius non simplex."-Horman's Vulgaria.

3 One kind of horse-race, which resembled the flight of wild-geese, was formerly known by this name.--Two horses were started together, and whichever rider could get the lead, the other rider was obliged to follow him wherever he chose to go.

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