Romeo and Juliet : I.V : II.II
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir.
That fair for which love groaned for and would die,
With tender Juliet matched, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
But to his foe supposed he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear.
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new beloved anywhere/
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
Act II, Scene I - A lane/Capulet's orchard
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
Romeo! My cousin Romeo!
He is wise,
And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.
He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall.
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! Humours! Madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh.
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied.
Cry but 'Ay me!' Pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid!
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it and conjured it down.
That were some spite. My invocation
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night.
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
An open arse, thou a popp'rin pear!
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?
Go, then, for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Re-enter JULIET, aloft
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite.
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
I come, anon. - But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee -
By and by, I come. -
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief.
Tomorrow will I send.
So thrive my soul -
A thousand times good night!
Exit JULIET above
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Re-enter JULIET, above
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud,
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
It is my soul that calls upon my name.
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
At what o'clock tomorrow
Shall I send to thee?
By the hour of nine.
I will not fail. 'Tis twenty year till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone.
And yet no further than a wanton's bird.
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I.
Romeo and Juliet : I.V : II.II
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.