Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Enter.

Rom. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand, To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse

Iul. Good Pilgrime, You do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this, For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch, And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse

Rom. Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too? Iul. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer

Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire

Iul. Saints do not moue, Though grant for prayers sake

Rom. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd

Iul. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd: Giue me my sin againe

Iul. You kisse by'th' booke

Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you

Rom. What is her Mother? Nurs. Marrie Batcheler, Her Mother is the Lady of the house, And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous, I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall: I tell you, he that can lay hold of her, Shall haue the chincks

Rom. Is she a Capulet? O deare account! My life is my foes debt

Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best

Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest

Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards: Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all. I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night: More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed. Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late, Ile to my rest

Iuli. Come hither Nurse, What is yond Gentleman: Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio

Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore? Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio

Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance? Nur. I know not

Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedded bed

Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely Sonne of your great Enemie

Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me, That I must loue a loathed Enemie

Nur. What's this? whats this? Iul. A rime, I learne euen now Of one I dan'st withall.

One cals within, Iuliet.

Nur. Anon, anon: Come let's away, the strangers all are gone.


Chorus. Now old desire doth in his death bed lie, And yong affection gapes to be his Heire, That faire, for which Loue gron'd for and would die, With tender Iuliet matcht, is now not faire. Now Romeo is beloued, and Loues againe, A like bewitched by the charme of lookes: But to his foe suppos'd he must complaine, And she steale Loues sweet bait from fearefull hookes: Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse To breath such vowes as Louers vse to sweare, And she as much in Loue, her meanes much lesse, To meete her new Beloued any where: But passion lends them Power, time, meanes to meete, Temp'ring extremities with extreame sweete. Enter Romeo alone.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

All Pages of This Book