Romeo and Juliet Page #4

You are welcome, gentlemen.

The fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st.

She hath forsworn to love.

Thou canst not teach me to forget.

What lady's that which doth enrich

the hand of yonder knight?

I know not, sir.

Oh, she doth teach

the torches to burn bright.

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it, sight.

For I ne'er saw true

beauty till this night.

This, by his voice, should be a Montague.

Fetch me my rapier, boy.

What? Dares the slave come hither

cover'd with an antic face

to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Why, how now, kinsman?

Wherefore storm you so?

Uncle, this is a Montague.

Our foe,

a villain that is hither come in spite

to scorn at our solemnity this night.

- Young Romeo, is it?

- 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.

I wouldn't for the wealth of all this town

here in my house do him disparagement.

Therefore be patient, take no note of him.

- I'll not endure him.

- He shall be endur'd.

What, goodman boy. I say, he shall.

Go to. Am I the master here or you?

Go to. You'll not endure him.

- Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.

- Go to. Go to.

You are a saucy boy.

I will withdraw.

But this intrusion shall, now

seeming sweet, convert to bitterest gall.

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.

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.

Saints do not move,

though grant for prayers' sake.

Then move not,

while my prayers' effect I take.

Thus from my lips by thine,

my sin is purged.

Then have my lips the sin

that they have took.

Sin from my lips?

Oh, trespass sweetly urged.

Give me my sin again.

Madam.

Madam.

Your mother craves a word with you.

What is her mother?

Marry, bachelor,

her mother is the lady of the house,

and a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous.

I nursed her daughter

that you talked withal.

Is she a Capulet?

O dear account.

My life is my foe's debt.

Away, be gone. The sport is at the best.

Ay, so I fear. The more is my unrest.

Come hither, nurse.

What is yond gentleman?

The son and heir of old Tiberio.

What's he that now is going out of door?

Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

What's he that follows there?

- I know not.

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