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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 breath such Vows as Lovers use to swear;
And she as much in Love, her means much less,
To meet her new Beloved any where:
But Pallion lends them Power, Time Means to meet,
Tempting Extremities with extream sweet.

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Enter Romeo alone.
Rom. Can I go forward when my Heart is here?
Turn back, duł Earth, and find my Center out. [Exit.

Enter Benvolio with Mercurio.
Bex. Romeo, my Cousin Romeo, Romeo.

Mer. He is wif,
And on my Life hath stoln him home to Bed.

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this Orchard Wall.
Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo, Humours, Madman, Paffion, Lover,
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one time, and I am fatisfied.
Cry me but Ay me! couple but Love and Day,
Speak to my Gosip Venus one fair Word,
One Nick-name for hir pur-blind Son and her,
Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so true,
Wher King Copletua lov'd the Beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he firreth not, he moveth not,
The Ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure chee by Rofaline's bright Eyes,
By her higi Foie-

hd, and her Scarlet Lip,
By her fi e Foot, freigt Leg, and quivering Thigh,
and the D. fincans that there adjacent lye,
That in t'y likenets tho appear to us.

Ben.. Ad if he h arhee, hou wilt anger him.

Moter. This cannot a fechim, 'would anger him Tersise a Spirit in his Mifticis's Circle

Of

Of some strange Nature, letting it there stand
'Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down ;
That were some spight.
My Invocation is fair and honest, and in his Mistress's Name
I conjure only, but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these Trees,
To be consorted with the humorous Night:
Blind is his Love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If Love be blind, Love cannot hit the Mark.
Now wilt he fit under a Medlar-tree,
And with his Mistress were that kind of Fruit,
Which Maids call Medlars when they laugh alone:
O, Romeo, that she were, Othat she were
An Open or thou a Poprin Pear;
Romeo, good Night, I'll to my Truckle-bed,
This Field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain to seek him here,
That means not to be found.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. A Garden.

Enter Romeo.
Rom. He jefts at Scars that never felt a Wound-
But soft, what Light thro' yonder Window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun :

[Juliet appears above at a Window.
Arise, fair Sun, and kill the envious Moon,
Who is already sick and pale with Grief,
That thou, her Maid, art far more fair than she.
Be not her Maid fince she is envious,
Her vestal Livery is but fick and green,
And none but Fools do wear it, cast it off :
It is my Lady, O ic is my Love...O that she knew the were !
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
Her Eye discourses, I will answer it
I am too bold, 'tis not to me the speaks:
Two of the fairest Stars of all the Heav'n,
Having some Business, do intreat her Eyes
To twinkle in their Spheres 'till they return.
What if her Eyes were there, they in her Heads

The

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The brightness of her Check would shame those Starsa
As Day-light doth a Limp; her Eye in Heav'n,
Would through the airy Region stream fo bright,
That Birds would ling, and think it were not Night:
See how the leans her Cheek upon her Hand !
O that I were a Glove upon that Hand,
That I might touch char Cheek,

Jul. Ah me!

Rom. She speaks.
Oh speak again, bright Angel, for thou art
As glorious to this Night, being o'er my Head,
As is a winged Meslenger from Heav'n,
Unto the white upturned wondriog Eyes,
Of Mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he beltrides the lazy puffing Clouds,
And fails upon the Bolom 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 more, or shall I speak at this? [-Alide.

Jul. 'Tis but thy Name th.t is my Enemy:
Thou art thy self, though not a Mountague.
What's Mountague? it is not Hand, nor Foot,
Nor Arm, nor Face..-..O be some other Name
Belonging to a Man. ·
What's in a Name? that which we call a Rose,
By any other word would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo callid,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that Title; Romeo, doff thy Name,
And for that Name, which is no part of thee,
Take all my felf.

Rom. I take thee at thy Word:
Call me but Love, and I'll be new baptiz'd,
Hencefor:h I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What Man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in Night,
So stumbleft on my Counsel?

Rom. By a Name,
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My Name, 'dear Saint, is hateful to my self,

Because

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Because it is an Enemy to thee,
Had I it written, I would rear the Word.

Jul. My Ears have yet not drunk a hundred Words
Of thy Tongue's uttering, yet I kaow the found.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Mountague ?!

Rom. Neither, fair Maid, if either th:e dilike.

Jul. How cam'st thou hither,
Tell me, and wherefore?
The Orchard Walls are high, and hard to c'in b,
And the place Death, considering who thou art,
If any of my Kosmen find thee here.

Rom. With Love's light Wings
Did I o'er-perch these Walls,
For ftony Limits cannot hold Love out,
And what Love can do, that dares Love attempt:
Therefore thy Kinsmen are no stop to me.

Jul. If they do see thée, they will murder thee.

Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine Eye, Than twenty of their Swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their Enmity.

Jul. I would 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 whole dire&ion found'st thou out this place?

Rom. By Love, that first did prompt me to enquire,
He lent me Counsil, and I lent him Eyes :
I am no Pilot, yet wert thou as far
As that vaft Shore, wash'd with the farthest Sea,
I should adventure for such Merchandise.

Jul. Thou knowelt the mask of Night is on my tuce,
Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my Cheek,
For that which thou haft heard me speak to Night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, deny
What I have spoke-bur farewel Complements:
Dost thou Love? O, I know thou wilt say, Ay,
And I will take thy Word-----yet if thou swear'ft,
Thou may'st prove false ; at Lovers Perjuries
They say Jove laughs; oh gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

Or

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Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt wooe: But elle not for the World.
In truth, fair 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 Coining to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, e'er I was ware,
My true Love's Passion ; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light Love,
Which the dark Night hath To discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder Moon I vow,
That tips with Silver all these Fruit-tree tops-

Jul. O swear not by the Moon, th’unconstant Moon,
That monthly changes in her circled Orb,
Lest that thy Love prove likewise variable.

Rom. What shall I swear by?

Jul. Do nor swear at all;
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the God of my Idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.

Rom. If my Heart's dear love

Jul. Well, do not swear-alchough 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 Lightning which doth cease to be,
E’er one can say, it lightens. Sweet, good Night,
This bud of Love by Summers ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous Flower when next we meet :
Good Night; good Nightmas sweet Repose and Rest,
Come to thy Heart, as that within my Breaft.

Rom. O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Ful, What fatisfa&ion canst chou have to Nights
Rom. Th’exchange of thy Love's faithful Vow of mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it :
And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For whať purpose, Love?

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again, And yet I wish but for the thing I have:

My

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