« AnteriorContinuar »
Ben. Romeo, my cousin Romeo. Mer. He is wise, And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall. Call, good Mercutio. Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. Why, Romeo! humour ! madman passion! lover ! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfy'd. Cry but ah me! couple but love and dove, I conjure thee, by thy mistress's bright eyes, By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip : By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, That in thy likeness thou appear to us. Ben. And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Mer. This cannot anger him: My invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise him up. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself amongst these trees, To be consorted with the hum’rous night.
Mer. Romeo, good night; I'll to my truckle bed, This field bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go [Ereunt.
Enter Rom Eo.
Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound— But soft, what light thro’yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun It is my lady—Oh, it is my love! Oh that she knew she were !
JULIET appears above, at a Window.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Jul. Ah me !
Rom. She speaks, she speaks!
Jul. Romeo, Romeo—wherefore art thou Romeo P 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 [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 would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title; Romeo, quit thy name, And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself. - Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, I will forswear my name, And never more be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel ? Rom. 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. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk an hundred words Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague 2 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and for what The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb, And the place death, consid'ring who thou art, lf 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, And what love can do, that dares love attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye, Then 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. By whose direction found'st thou out this place Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire, He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes; I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far As that vast shore, wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandize. Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night, Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke—But, farewell compliment— Dost thou love me?—I know thou wilt say, ay, And I will take thy word.—Yet, if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries They say, Jove laughs.-Oh, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or, if thou think I am too quickly won, I'll be perverse, and say thee, nay, So thou wilt woo: but, else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, 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 should 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 discovered. Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon, I vow, That tips with silver all these tree tops Jul. O swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,