Mer.
See where he steals—Told I you not, Benvolio,
That we should find this melancholy Cupid

Lock'd in some gloomy covert, under key
Of cautionary silence; with his arms
Threaded, like these cross boughs, in sorrow's knot. Enter Romeo.

Ben.
Good-morrow, cousin.

Rom.
Is the day so young?

Ben.
But new struck nine.

Rom.
Ah me! sad hours seem long.

Mer.
Pr'ythee, what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom.
Not having that, which having, makes them short.

Ben.
In love, me seems!
Alas, that love so gentle to the view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom.
Where shall we dine?—O me—cousin Benvolio,
What was the fray this morning with the Capulets?
Yet, tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Love, heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
This love feel I; but such my froward fate,
That there I love where most I ought to hate.
Dost thou not laugh, my coz?—Oh Juliet, Juliet!

Ben.
No, coz, I had rather weep.

Rom.
Good heart, at what?—

Ren.
At thy good heart's oppression.

Mer.
Tell me, in sadness, who is she you love?

Rom.
In sadness, then, I love a woman.

Mer.
I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom.
A right good marksman! and she's fair I love;
But knows not of my love: 'twas through my eyes
The shaft empierc'd my heart; chance gave the wound,
Which time can never heal; no star befriends me;
To each sad night succeeds a dismal morrow;* ^note
And still 'tis hopeless love, and endless sorrow.

Mer.
Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.

Rom.
O teach me how I should forget to think.

Mer.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Take thou some new infection to thy heart,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Examine other beauties.

Rom.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost.
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Remembering me, who past that passing fair.
Farewel, thou can'st not teach me to forget.

Mer.
I warrant thee, if thou'lt but stay to hear;
To-night there is an ancient splendid feast,
Kept by old Capulet, our enemy,
Where all the beauties of Verona meet.

Rom.
At Capulet's!

Mer.
At Capulet's, my friend;
Go there, and with an unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow!

Rom.
When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehoods, then turn tears to fires;
And burn the hereticks. All-seeing Phœbus
Ne'er saw her match, since first his course began.

Mer.
Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else being by.
Herself pois'd with herself; but let be weigh'd
Your lady love against some other fair,
And she will shew scant well.

Rom.
I will along, Mercutio.

Mer.
'Tis well. Look to behold at this high feast,
Earth treading stars, that make dim heaven's lights.

Hear all, all see, try all; and like her most,
That most shall merit thee.

Rom.
My mind is chang'd—
I will not go, to-night.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?

Rom.
I dream'd a dream, last night.

Mer.
Ha! ha! a dream?
O then I see queen Mab has been with you.* ^note
She is the fancy's mid-wife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agat-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners legs;
The cover, of the wings of grashoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moon-shine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops, night by night,
Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers knees, that dream on curt'sies straight:
O'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tythe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then, anon,
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that Mab—

Rom.
Peace, peace,
Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer.
True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more unconstant than the wind.* ^note

Ben.
This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves,
And we shall come too late.

Rom.
I fear too early; for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
From this night's revels—lead, gallant friends; [Exeunt Mer. and Ben.
Let come what may, once more I will behold
My Juliet's eyes, drink deeper of affliction:
I'll watch the time; and mask'd from observation,
Make known my sufferings, but conceal my name:
Tho' hate and discord 'twixt our fires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.† ^note [Exit Romeo.

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