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Scene. I. – An open Place, adjoining Capulet's Garden.
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.
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! Romeo !
Mer. He is wise; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
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! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but--Ah 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 lov'd 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 higti 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. Men. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Met. 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, 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: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Met. 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 mediars when they laugh alone.- 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 Garden.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. 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:
