Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Met. Alas, poor Romeo! he is already dead! stabbed with a white wench's black eye; run thorough 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 ?
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ?
Mer. More than prince of cats, ! 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 yore' bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a due!list; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hay ! -
Ben. The what ?
Mer. 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 l?ardonaez-mois, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench ? O, their boas, their boas !
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring.--O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified !--Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was 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.
Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you ?
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip: can you not conceive ?
Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say--such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
Rom. Meaning--to courtesy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. ?er. 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, solely singular.
Rom. O single-soled jest.! solely singular ibr the singleness.
Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, for my wits fail.
Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. ?_?er. Nay, if our 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 26 my whole five. Was I with you there for' the goose ?
Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweetlug; it is a most sharp sauce.
Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ?
Mer. O ! here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an ineh narrow to an ell broad.
Rom. I stretch it out for that word--broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide abroad--goose.
Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love ? now art thou sociable, now a?t thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature; for this driveling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
Ben. Stop there, stop there.
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.
Mer. O, thou art deceived! I would have made it short; for I xvas come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.
Rom. Here's goodly geer!
Enter Nurse and Peter.
Mer. A sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
Nurse. Peter, pr'ythee give me my fan.
Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two.
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den ?
Mer. '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.
Rom. 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 ?
Rom. 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.
Mer. Yea! is the worst well ? very well took, i'faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A ba;vd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho!
Rom. What hast thou found ?
Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.
An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent: But a hare that is boar, is too much for a score, When it boars ere it be spent.-
Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll to dinner thither.
Rom. I will follow you.
