Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

ACT II

William Shakespeare

Enter Chorus

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,

And young affection gapes to be his heir;

That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks,

But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;

And she as much in love, her means much less

To meet her new-beloved any where.

But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,

Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

Scene I.

A Lane by the Wall of Capulet's Orchard

Enter Romeo

Romeo. 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

Benvolio. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!

Mercutio. He is wise,

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.

Benvolio. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall;

Call, good Mercutio.

Mercutio. 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 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove';

Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

One nickname for her purblind son and heir,

Young Abraham 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 high forehead and her scarlet lip,

That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

Benvolio. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

Mercutio. 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.

Benvolio. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night;

Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

Mercutio. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.—

Romeo, good night.—I'll to my truckle-bed;

This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.

Come, shall we go?

Benvolio.Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To seek him here that means not to be found. [Exeunt.

Scene II.

Capulet's Orchard

Enter Romeo

Romeo. 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!

O, that she knew she were!—

She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright

That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Juliet. Ay me!

Romeo. She speaks.—

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art

As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,

As is a winged messenger of heaven

Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes

Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him,

When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds

And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Juliet. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love

And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo. [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Juliet. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title.—Romeo, doff thy name,

And for that name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.

Romeo. I take thee at thy word.

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;

Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Juliet. What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night

So stumblest on my counsel?

Romeo. By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am.

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,

Because it is an enemy to thee;

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Juliet. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words

Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound.—

Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

Romeo. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

Juliet. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,

And the place death, considering who thou art,

If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Romeo. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do that dares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

Juliet. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.

Romeo. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet,

And I am proof against their enmity.

Juliet. I would not for the world they saw thee here.

Romeo. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes;

And but thou love me, let them find me here.

My life were better ended by their hate

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Juliet. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Romeo. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire;

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise.

Juliet. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny

What I have spoke; but farewell compliment!

Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ay,

And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st,

Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries,

They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,

If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully;

Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo, but else not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

And therefore thou mayst think my haviour light;

100

But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true

Than those that have more cunning to be strange.

I should have been more strange, I must confess,

But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,

My true love's passion; therefore pardon me,

And not impute this yielding to light love,

Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Romeo. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—

Juliet. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

110

That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Romeo. What shall I swear by?

Juliet. Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,

Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

Romeo. If my heart's dear love—

Juliet. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract to-night;

It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden,

Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be

120

Ere one can say it lightens. Sweet, good night!

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,

May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest

Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

Romeo. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Juliet. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

Romeo. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Juliet. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;

And yet I would it were to give again.

130

Romeo. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

Juliet. But to be frank and give it thee again;

And yet I wish but for the thing I have.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within.

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!—

Anon, good nurse!—Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.

Romeo. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,

140

Being in night, all this is but a dream,

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter Juliet, above

Juliet. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable,

Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,

By one that I'll procure to come to thee,

Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;

And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,

And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Nurse. [Within] Madam!

150

Juliet. I come, anon.—But if thou mean'st not well,

I do beseech thee—

Nurse. [Within] Madam!

Juliet. By and by, I come.—

To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief;

To-morrow will I send.

Romeo. So thrive my soul—

Juliet. A thousand times good night! [Exit.

Romeo. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.—

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,

But love from love toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly.

Re-enter Juliet, above

Juliet. Hist! Romeo, hist!—O, for a falconer's voice,

160

To lure this tassel-gentle back again!

Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud;

Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine

With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Romeo. It is my soul that calls upon my name;

How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,

Like softest music to attending ears!

Juliet. Romeo!

Romeo. My dear?

Juliet. At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

Romeo. At the hour of nine.

170

Juliet. I will not fail; 't is twenty years till then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Romeo. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Juliet. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,

Remembering how I love thy company.

Romeo. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,

Forgetting any other home but this.

Juliet. 'T is almost morning; I would have thee gone,

And yet no farther than a wanton's bird,

Who lets it hop a little from her hand,

180

Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,

And with a silk thread plucks it back again,

So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Romeo. I would I were thy bird.

Juliet. Sweet, so would I;

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be morrow. [Exit above.

Romeo. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!

189

Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,

His help to crave and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.

Scene III.

Friar Laurence's Cell

EnterFriar Laurence, with a basket

A Street

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio

Mercutio. Where the devil should this Romeo be?

Came he not home to-night?

Benvolio. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

Mercutio. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

Torments him so that he will sure run mad.

Benvolio. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,

Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

Mercutio. A challenge, on my life.

Benvolio. Romeo will answer it.

Mercutio. Any man that can write may answer

a letter.

Benvolio. Nay, he will answer the letter's master,

how he dares, being dared.

Mercutio. Alas, poor Romeo! he is already dead;

stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot 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?

Benvolio. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mercutio. More than prince of cats, I 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 your bosom; the very butcher of a

silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the

very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah,

the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay!

Benvolio. The what?

Mercutio. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting

fantasticoes, these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,

a very good blade! a very tall man!'—Why, is not

this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be

thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,

these pardonnez-mois, who stand so much

on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the

old bench? O, their bons, their bons!

Enter Romeo

Benvolio. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mercutio. 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 but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better

love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra

a gypsy; 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.

Romeo. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit

did I give you?

Mercutio. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not

conceive?

Romeo. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was

great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain

courtesy.

Mercutio. That's as much as to say, such a case

as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Romeo. Meaning, to curtsy.

Mercutio. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Romeo. A most courteous exposition.

Mercutio. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

Romeo. Pink for flower.

Mercutio. Right.

Romeo. Why, then is my pump well flowered.

Mercutio. 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

sole singular.

Romeo. O single-souled jest, solely singular for

the singleness!

Mercutio. Come between us, good Benvolio; my

wits fail.

Romeo. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or

I'll cry a match.

Mercutio. Nay, if thy 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 my whole

five. Was I with you there for the goose?

Romeo. Thou wast never with me for any thing

when thou was not there for the goose.

Mercutio. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Romeo. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mercutio. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is

a most sharp sauce.

Romeo. And is it not well served in to a sweet

goose?

Mercutio. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches

from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Romeo. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,'

which added to the goose proves thee far and wide

a broad goose.

Mercutio. Why, is not this better now than groaning

for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou

Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well

as by nature; for this drivelling love is like a great

natural,—

Benvolio. Stop there, stop there.

Romeo. Here's goodly gear!

Enter Nurse and Peter

Mercutio. A sail, a sail!

Benvolio. Two, two; a shirt and a smock.

100Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon!

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mercutio. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her
fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

Mercutio. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.

Nurse. Is it good den?

Mercutio. 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the hand of
the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

110Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you!

Romeo. 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?

Romeo. 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.

120Nurse. You say well.

Mercutio. Yea, is the worst well? very well took,
i' faith; wisely, wisely.

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence
with you.

Benvolio. She will indite him to some supper.

Mercutio. So ho!

Romeo. What hast thou found?

Mercutio. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a
lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be
130spent.—Romeo, will you come to your father's?
we'll to dinner thither.

Romeo. I will follow you.

Mercutio. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, [singing]
'lady, lady, lady!'
[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.

Nurse. Marry, farewell!—I pray you, sir, what
saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his
ropery?

Romeo. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear
himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than
140he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take
him down an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty
such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that
shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I
am none of his skains-mates.—And thou must stand
by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his
pleasure?

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I
had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I
150warrant you. I dare draw as soon as another man,
if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on
my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!—Pray you,
sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade
me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will
keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should
lead her in a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a
very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the
160gentlewoman is young, and, therefore, if you should
deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be
offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Romeo. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.
I protest unto thee—

Nurse. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as
much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman!

Romeo. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost
not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest,
170which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Romeo. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift

This afternoon;

And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell

Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurse. No, truly, sir, not a penny.

Romeo. Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

Romeo. And stay, good nurse; behind the abbey wall

Within this hour my man shall be with thee,

180

And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,

Which to the high top-gallant of my joy

Must be my convoy in the secret night.

Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.

Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.

Romeo. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,

Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Romeo. I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.

190Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady—Lord,
Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing—O,
there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would
fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as
lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger
her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer
man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks
as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not
rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Romeo. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

200Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is
for the—No, I know it begins with some other
letter—and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,
of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to
hear it.

Romeo. Commend me to thy lady.

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.—[Exit Romeo] Peter!

Peter. Anon.

Nurse. Before, and apace.
[Exeunt.

Scene V.

Capulet's Orchard

Enter Juliet

Juliet. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;

In half an hour she promis'd to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him; that's not so.

O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,

Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams

Driving back shadows over lowering hills;

Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,

And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

Now is the sun upon the highmost hill

Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve

Is three long hours, yet she is not come.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood,

She would be as swift in motion as a ball;

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,

And his to me;

But old folks, many feign as they were dead,

Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.—

Enter Nurse and Peter

O God, she comes!—O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter.

Juliet. Now, good sweet nurse,—O Lord, why look'st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;

If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news

By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.

Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!

Juliet. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.

Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.

Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

Juliet. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath

To say to me that thou art out of breath?

The excuse that thou dost make in this delay

Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;

Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance.

Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you
know not how to choose a man. Romeo! no, not
40he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his
leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and
a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they
are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy,
but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy
ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at
home?

Juliet. No, no; but all this did I know before.

What says he of our marriage? what of that?

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back o' t'other side,—O, my back, my back!

Beshrew your heart for sending me about,

To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

Juliet. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.

Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman,

And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,

And, I warrant, a virtuous,—Where is your mother?

Juliet. Where is my mother! why, she is within;

Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!

'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,

Where is your mother?'

Nurse. O God's lady dear!

Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow;

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Juliet. Here's such a coil!—come, what says Romeo?

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

Juliet. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;

There stays a husband to make you a wife.

Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,

They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.

Hie you to church; I must another way,

To fetch a ladder, by the which your love

Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark.

I am the drudge, and toil in your delight.

Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.

Juliet. Hie to high fortune!—Honest nurse, farewell. [Exeunt.

Scene VI.

Friar Laurence's Cell

Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo

Friar Laurence. So smile the heavens upon this holy act

That after hours with sorrow chide us not!

Romeo. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

Then love—devouring death do what he dare,

It is enough I may but call her mine.

Friar Laurence. These violent delights have violent ends,

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which as they kiss consume; the sweetest honey

Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite.

Therefore love moderately, long love doth so;

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.—

Enter Juliet

Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot

Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint!

A lover may bestride the gossamer

That idles in the wanton summer air,

And yet not fall, so light is vanity.

Juliet. Good even to my ghostly confessor.

Friar Laurence. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

Juliet. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.

Romeo. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy

Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more

To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue

Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both

Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Juliet. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

Brags of his substance, not of ornament.

They are but beggars that can count their worth;

But my true love is grown to such excess

I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Friar Laurence. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone

Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt.

Loggia of Capulet's House

Clyx.com