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Chorus |
Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, |
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And young affection gapes to be his heir; |
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That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, |
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With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. |
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Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, |
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Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, |
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But to his foe supposed he must complain, |
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And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: |
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Being held a foe, he may not have access |
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To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; |
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And she as much in love, her means much less |
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To meet her new-beloved any where: |
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But passion lends them power, time means, to meet |
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Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. |
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A street next to the wall of Capulet's orchard. |
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Romeo |
Can I go forward when my heart is here? |
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Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. |
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He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it |
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Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO |
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Benvolio |
Romeo! my cousin Romeo! |
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And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. |
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Benvolio |
He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: |
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Mercutio |
Nay, I'll conjure too. |
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Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! |
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Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: |
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Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; |
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Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' |
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Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, |
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One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, |
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Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, |
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When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! |
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He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; |
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The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. |
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I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, |
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By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, |
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By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh |
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And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, |
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That in thy likeness thou appear to us! |
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Benvolio |
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. |
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Mercutio |
This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him |
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To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle |
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Of some strange nature, letting it there stand |
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Till she had laid it and conjured it down; |
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That were some spite: my invocation |
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Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name |
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I conjure only but to raise up him. |
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Benvolio |
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, |
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To be consorted with the humorous night: |
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Blind is his love and best befits the dark. |
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Mercutio |
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. |
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Now will he sit under a medlar tree, |
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And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit |
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As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. |
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Romeo, that she were, O, that she were |
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An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! |
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Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; |
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This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: |
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Benvolio |
Go, then; for 'tis in vain |
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To seek him here that means not to be found. |
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