The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 458

Jul. Do not swear at all; Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the G.o.d of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.

Rom. If my heart's dear love- Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night.

It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet.

Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?

Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again.

And yet I wish but for the thing I have.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!

[Nurse] calls within.

Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.]

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Enter Juliet above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 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.

Nurse. (within) Madam!

Jul. I come, anon.- But if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee- Nurse. (within) Madam!

Jul. By-and-by I come.- To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief.

To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul- Jul. A thousand times good night! Exit.

Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.

Enter Juliet again, [above].

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice To lure this ta.s.sel-gentle back again!

Bondage is hoa.r.s.e and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoa.r.s.e than mine With repet.i.tion of my Romeo's name.

Romeo!

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name.

How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My dear?

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?

Rom. By the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone- And yet no farther than a wanton's bird, That 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.

Rom. I would I were thy bird.

Jul. Sweet, so would I.

Yet I should kill thee with much cheris.h.i.+ng.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

[Exit.]

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.

Exit

Scene III.

Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.

Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and t.i.tan's fiery wheels.

Non, 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-juiced flowers.

The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb.

What is her burying gave, that is her womb; And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find; Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different.

O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime's by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and medicine power; For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father.

Friar. Benedicite!

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Young son, it argues a distempered head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

Therefore thy earliness doth me a.s.sure Thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right- Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine.

Friar. G.o.d pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.

I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.

I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me That's by me wounded. Both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies.

I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Friar. 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 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine, And all combin'd, save what thou must combine By holy marriage. When, and where, and how We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pa.s.s; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day.

Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here!

Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.

Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!

How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste!

The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears.

Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.

If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.