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At what o'clock to-morrow
At the hour of nine.
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,
Jul. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone :
Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I:
Rom. 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 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. L. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and 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 up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juicèd flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
Rom. That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. L. 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
Fri. L. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here !
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Not in a grave,..
Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she whom I love now
O, she knew well
Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Scene IV. A street.
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with a lovesong; the very in of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ?
Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. (2) He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,- of the first and second cause : ah, the immortal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hay!
Ben. The what?
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents !—“By Jesu, a very good blade !- a very tall man !-a very good whore!"- Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons !
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring :-O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified !-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchenwench,—marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose,
Enter Romeo. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
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 court'sy.