Act 2
Scene 1
A lane by the wall of Capulet’s orchard.
Enter ROMEO
ROMEO:
Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO
BENVOLIO:
Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
MERCUTIO:
He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol’n him home to bed.
BENVOLIO:
He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.
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 nick-name 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!
BENVOLIO:
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
MERCUTIO:
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.
BENVOLIO:
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
MERCUTIO:
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 et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I’ll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?
BENVOLIO:
Go, then; for ’tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found.
Exeunt
Scene 2
Capulet’s orchard.
Enter ROMEO
ROMEO:
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
JULIET appears 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!
JULIET:
Ay me!
ROMEO:
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 wondering 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.
JULIET:
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.
ROMEO:
[Aside]
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET:
’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 title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.
ROMEO:
I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
JULIET:
What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night So stumblest on my counsel?
ROMEO:
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.
JULIET:
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
ROMEO:
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
JULIET:
How camest 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.
ROMEO:
With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch 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.
JULIET:
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
ROMEO:
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
JULIET:
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROMEO:
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.
JULIET:
By whose direction found’st thou out this place?
ROMEO:
By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.
JULIET:
Thou know’st 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 Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse an 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 ’havior 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’s passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.
ROMEO:
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops- JULIET:
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
ROMEO:
What shall I swear by?
JULIET:
Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.
ROMEO:
If my heart’s dear love- JULIET:
Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, 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 flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
ROMEO:
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET:
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
ROMEO:
The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
JULIET:
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again.
ROMEO:
Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?
JULIET:
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.
Nurse calls within
I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.
Exit, above
ROMEO:
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter JULIET, above
JULIET:
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!
JULIET:
I come, anon.-But if thou mean’st not well, I do beseech thee- Nurse:
[Within]
Madam!
JULIET:
By and by, I come:- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.
ROMEO:
So thrive my soul- JULIET:
A thousand times good night!
Exit, above
ROMEO:
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Retiring
Re-enter JULIET, above
JULIET:
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.
ROMEO:
It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!
JULIET:
Romeo!
ROMEO:
My dear?
JULIET:
At what o’clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?
ROMEO:
At the hour of nine.
JULIET:
I will not fail: ’tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.
ROMEO:
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
JULIET:
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.
ROMEO:
And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.
JULIET:
’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.
ROMEO:
I would I were thy bird.
JULIET:
Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Exit above
ROMEO:
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 3
Friar Laurence’s cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket
FRIAR LAURENCE:
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels: Now, 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 grave 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 herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought 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 sometimes 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
ROMEO:
Good morrow, father.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper’d 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 assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
ROMEO:
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
ROMEO:
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
That’s my good son: but where hast thou been, then?
ROMEO:
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 LAURENCE:
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
ROMEO:
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 combined, 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 pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom 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 my 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: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
ROMEO:
Thou chid’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROMEO:
And bad’st me bury love.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have.
ROMEO:
I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I’ll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
ROMEO:
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
Exeunt
Scene 4
A street.
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO
MERCUTIO:
Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night?
BENVOLIO:
Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man.
MERCUTIO:
Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
BENVOLIO:
Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
MERCUTIO:
A challenge, on my life.
BENVOLIO:
Romeo will answer it.
MERCUTIO:
Any man that can write may answer a letter.
BENVOLIO:
Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.
MERCUTIO:
Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench’s black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
BENVOLIO:
Why, what is Tybalt?
MERCUTIO:
More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai!
BENVOLIO:
The what?
MERCUTIO:
The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! ’By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!’ Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi’s, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones!
Enter ROMEO
BENVOLIO:
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
MERCUTIO:
Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
ROMEO:
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
MERCUTIO:
The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
ROMEO:
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
MERCUTIO:
That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
ROMEO:
Meaning, to court’sy.
MERCUTIO:
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROMEO:
A most courteous exposition.
MERCUTIO:
Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
ROMEO:
Pink for flower.
MERCUTIO:
Right.
ROMEO:
Why, then is my pump well flowered.
MERCUTIO:
Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.
ROMEO:
O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness.
MERCUTIO:
Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.
ROMEO:
Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.
MERCUTIO:
Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose?
ROMEO:
Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose.
MERCUTIO:
I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
ROMEO:
Nay, good goose, bite not.
MERCUTIO:
Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
ROMEO:
And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?
MERCUTIO:
O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
ROMEO:
I stretch it out for that word ’broad;’ which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
MERCUTIO:
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
BENVOLIO:
Stop there, stop there.
MERCUTIO:
Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
BENVOLIO:
Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
MERCUTIO:
O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.
ROMEO:
Here’s goodly gear!
Enter Nurse and PETER
MERCUTIO:
A sail, a sail!
BENVOLIO:
Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
Nurse:
Peter!
PETER:
Anon!
Nurse:
My fan, Peter.
MERCUTIO:
Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.
Nurse:
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
MERCUTIO:
God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse:
Is it good den?
MERCUTIO:
’Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
Nurse:
Out upon you! what a man are you!
ROMEO:
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
Nurse:
By my troth, it is well said; ’for himself to mar,’ quoth a’? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
ROMEO:
I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
Nurse:
You say well.
MERCUTIO:
Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i’ faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse: if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
BENVOLIO:
She will indite him to some supper.
MERCUTIO:
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!
ROMEO:
What hast thou found?
MERCUTIO:
No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.
Sings
An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father’s? we’ll to dinner, thither.
ROMEO:
I will follow you.
MERCUTIO:
Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,
Singing
’lady, lady, lady.’
Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO
Nurse:
Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?
ROMEO:
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse:
An a’ speak any thing against me, I’ll take him down, an a’ were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?
PETER:
I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse:
Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
ROMEO:
Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee- Nurse:
Good heart, and, i’ faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
ROMEO:
What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
Nurse:
I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
ROMEO:
Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence’ cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse:
No truly sir; not a penny.
ROMEO:
Go to; I say you shall.
Nurse:
This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
ROMEO:
And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse:
Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
ROMEO:
What say’st thou, my dear nurse?
Nurse:
Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
ROMEO:
I warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.
NURSE:
Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, Lord! when ’twas a little prating thing:-O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?