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The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

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Act II, Scene 1

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]


  • Mercutio. He is wise;
    And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.
  • Benvolio. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
    Call, good Mercutio.
  • Mercutio. Nay, I'll conjure too. 805
    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, 810
    One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
    Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
    When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
    He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
    The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. 815
    I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
    By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
    By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
    And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
    That in thy likeness thou appear to us! 820
  • Benvolio. And 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 conjured it down; 825
    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: 830
    Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
  • Mercutio. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
    Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
    And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
    As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. 835
    Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
    An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!
    Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;
    This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
    Come, shall we go? 840
  • Benvolio. Go, then; for 'tis in vain
    To seek him here that means not to be found.