LITMIR.BIZ

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blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,

      Being in night, all this is but a dream,

      Too flattering sweet to be substantial.

      Enter Juliet above.

Juliet

      Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

      If that thy bent of love be honourable,

      Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,

      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 lord throughout the world.

Nurse

      [Within.] Madam.

Juliet

      I come, anon.– But if thou meanest not well,

      I do beseech thee,-

Nurse

      [Within.] Madam.

Juliet

      By and by I come-

      To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.

      Tomorrow will I send.

Romeo

      So thrive my soul,-

Juliet

      A thousand times good night.

      [Exit.]

Romeo

      A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.

      Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,

      But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.

      [Retiring slowly.]

      Re-enter Juliet, above.

Juliet

      Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice

      To lure this tassel-gentle 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.

Romeo

      It is my soul that calls upon my name.

      How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,

      Like softest music to attending ears.

Juliet

      Romeo!

Romeo

      My nyas?

Juliet

      What o’clock tomorrow

      Shall I send to thee?

Romeo

      By the hour of nine.

Juliet

      I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.

      I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Romeo

      Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Juliet

      I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,

      Remembering how I love thy company.

Romeo

      And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,

      Forgetting any other home but this.

Juliet

      ’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 prisoner in his twisted gyves,

      And with a silk thread plucks it back again,

      So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Romeo

      I would I were thy bird.

Juliet

      Sweet, so would I:

      Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

      Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow

      That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

      [Exit.]

Romeo

      Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.

      Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.

      Hence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,

      His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.

      [Exit.]

      Scene III

      Friar Lawrence’s Cell. Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.

Friar Lawrence

      The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,

      Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;

      And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels

      From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheels

      Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,

      The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,

      I must upfill 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 plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.

      For naught so vile that on the earth doth live

      But to the earth some special good doth give;

      Nor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,

      Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

      Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied,

      And vice sometime’s by action dignified.

      Within the infant rind of this weak flower

      Poison hath residence, and medicine power:

      For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;

      Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

      Two such opposed kings 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.

Romeo

      Good morrow, father.

Friar Lawrence

      Benedicite!

      What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

      Young son, it argues a distemper’d 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 unstuff’d brain

      Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

      Therefore thy earliness doth me assure

      Thou art uprous’d with some distemperature;

      Or if not so, then here I hit it right,

      Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.

Romeo

      That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

Friar Lawrence

      God pardon

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