Rom. Can I goe forward when my heart is here? Turne backe dull earth, and find thy Center out. Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo, my Cozen Romeo, Romeo
Merc. He is wise, And on my life hath stolne him home to bed
Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall. Call good Mercutio: Nay, Ile coniure too
Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Passion, Louer, Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh, Speake but one time, and I am satisfied: Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day, Speake to my goship Venus one faire word, One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her, Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true, When King Cophetua lou'd the begger Maid, He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not, The Ape is dead, I must coniure him, I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes, By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip, By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh, And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie, That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs
Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him
Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle, Of some strange nature, letting it stand Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe, That were some spight. My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him
Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees To be consorted with the Humerous night: Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke
Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite, As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou a Poprin Peare, Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe, Come shall we go? Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here That meanes not to be found.
Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then she: Be not her Maid since she is enuious, Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were, She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answere it: I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen, Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright, That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night: See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke
Iul. Ay me
Rom. She speakes. Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre
Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father and refuse thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet