The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 457

Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

[Climbs the wall and leaps down within it.]

Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!

Mer. He is wise, And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.

Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall.

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours! madman! pa.s.sion! lover!

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied!

Cry but 'Ay me!' p.r.o.nounce 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 lov'd the beggar maid!

He heareth not, he stirreth not, be 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!

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

Mer. 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 conjur'd it down.

That were some spite; my invocation Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees To be consorted with the humorous night.

Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

Mer. 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.

O, Romeo, that she were, O that she were An open et cetera, thou a pop'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?

Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain 'To seek him here that means not to be found.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

Capulet's orchard.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Enter Juliet above at a window.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou her maid art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid, since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

It is my lady; O, it is my love!

O that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!

Jul. Ay me!

Rom. She speaks.

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

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. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

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 t.i.tle. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

Rom. I take thee at thy word.

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel?

Rom. By a name 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.

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound.

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If 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 let to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.

Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than 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.

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here.

My life were better ended by their hate Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire.

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast sh.o.r.e wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou knowest 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 mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries, They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, p.r.o.nounce it faithfully.

Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and 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 mayst 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 pa.s.sion. 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 swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops- Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Rom. What shall I swear by?