Romeo and Juliet Page #3

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Will now deny to dance?

Romeo is here.

Romeo?

Yes sir.

Uncle, this is a

Montague, our foe,

A villain that

is hither come in

spite, To scorn at our

solemnity this night

My fair ladies.

my noble lords, now

the musicians of

center Rome, will

pay for you the

beautiful galliard.

Young

Romeo is it?

'Tis he, that

villain Romeo.

I would not for

the wealth of all

the town Here in

my house do him

disparagement:

Therefore be

patient, take

no note of him:

I'll not endure him.

He shall be endured:

I have seen the

day That I have worn

a visor and could

tell A whispering

tale in a fair

lady's ear,

For shame!

I'll make you quiet.

What, cheerly,

my hearts!

Put on the mask.

Leave this

place at once.

Go.

O, she doth teach

the torches to

burn bright!

It seems she hangs

upon the cheek of

night Like a

rich jewel in an

Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for

use, for earth

too dear!

What lady is that,

which doth enrich

the hand Of

yonder knight?

I know not, sir.

The measure done,

I'll watch her place

of stand, And,

touching hers,

make blessed

my rude hand.

Shall we rest?

If I profane with

my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the

gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing

pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that

rough touch with

a tender kiss.

Good pilgrim,

you do wrong your

hand too much, Which

mannerly devotion

shows in this; For

saints have hands

that pilgrims' hands

do touch, And palm to

palm is holy

palmers' kiss.

Have not saints

lips, and holy

palmers too?

Ay, pilgrim, lips

that they must use

in prayer.

O, then, dear

saint, let lips do

what hands do; They

pray, grant thou,

lest faith turn

to despair.

Madam, your

mother craves a word

with you.

Who is her mother?

Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the

lady of the house,

Is she a Capulet?

Where's he gone?

Where?

Go ask his name:

if he be married.

My grave is like to

be my wedding bed.

His name

is Romeo, and a

Montague; The

only son of your

great enemy.

My only love

sprung from my

only hate!

My life is

my foe's debt.

Can I go forward

when my heart

is here?

Where the devil

should this Romeo be?

Came he not

home to-night?

Ah, that same pale

hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline.

Torments him so, that

he will sure run mad.

Romeo, my cousin Romeo!

The fool is gone.

He is mad.

He is wise; And,

on my lie, hath

stol'n him home to bed.

Call, call, call!

Call, good Mercutio.

Call?

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;

Hey! Come!

I conjure thee by

Rosaline's bright

eyes, By her high

forehead and her

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