Verona. A Lane by the wall of CAPULET’S Orchard. | |
| |
Enter ROMEO. | |
| Rom. 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. | 4 |
| |
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. | |
| Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! | |
| Mer. He is wise; | |
| And, on my life, hath stol’n him home to bed. | 8 |
| Ben. He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: | |
| Call, good Mercutio. | |
| Mer. Nay, I’ll conjure too. | |
| Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! | 12 |
| Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: | |
| Speak but one rime and I am satisfied; | |
| Cry but ‘Ay me!’ couple but ‘love’ and ‘dove;’ | |
| Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. | 16 |
| 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, he moveth not; | 20 |
| 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, | 24 |
| 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 | 28 |
| 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 | 32 |
| Is fair and honest, and 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: | 36 |
| 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 | 40 |
| As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. | |
| O Romeo! that she were, O! that she were | |
| An open et cœtera, thou a poperin pear. | |
| Romeo, good night: I’ll to my truckle-bed; | 44 |
| 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. | 48 |
