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.

Rom. 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.

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 mean'st 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 school-boys from their

books;

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! -O, for a falconer's

voice,

To lure this tassel-gentle3 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.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,

Like softest musick to attending ears !

Jul. Romeo !

Rom. My sweet!
Jul.

At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?
Rom.

At 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 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.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.

Jul.

Sweet, so would I :

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

$ The male of the goshawk.

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 haps to tell. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE, with a Basket.

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's 7

wheels:

Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up 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 graces, 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 sometime 's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each

part;

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes 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.

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-rous'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right- r

Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou

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

Fri. 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 pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.

Fri. 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 chang'd? pronounce this sentence

then

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.