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  • Title: Romeo and Juliet (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Roger Apfelbaum

    • ISBN: 1-55058-299-2

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Roger Apfelbaum
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Romeo and Juliet (Folio 1, 1623)

    The Tragedie of Romeo and Iuliet.59
    Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Passion, Louer,
    Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh,
    Speake but one rime, and I am satisfied:
    760Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day,
    Speake to my goship Venus one faire word,
    One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her,
    Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true,
    When King Cophetua lou'd the begger Maid,
    765He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not,
    The Ape is dead, I must coniure him,
    I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes,
    By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip,
    By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh,
    770And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie,
    That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs.
    Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him.
    Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him
    To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle,
    775Of some strange nature, letting it stand
    Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe,
    That were some spight.
    My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name,
    I coniure onely but to raise vp him.
    780Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees
    To be consorted with the Humerous night:
    Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke.
    Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke,
    Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree,
    785And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite,
    As Maides call Medlers when they laugh alone,
    O Romeo that she were, O that she were
    An open, or thou a Poprin Peare,
    Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed,
    790This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe,
    Come shall we go?
    Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here
    That meanes not to be found. Exeunt.
    Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound,
    795But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
    It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne,
    Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone,
    Who is already sicke and pale with griefe,
    That thou her Maid art far more faire then she:
    800Be not her Maid since she is enuious,
    Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene,
    And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off:
    It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were,
    She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that?
    805Her eye discourses, I will answere it:
    I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes:
    Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen,
    Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes,
    To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne.
    810What if her eyes were there, they in her head,
    The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres,
    As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen,
    Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright,
    That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night:
    815See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand.
    O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand,
    That I might touch that cheeke.
    Iul. Ay me.
    Rom. She speakes.
    820
    Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art
    As glorious to this night being ore my head,
    As is a winged messenger of heauen
    Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes
    Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him,
    825When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes,
    And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre.
    Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
    Denie thy Father and refuse thy name:
    Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne my Loue,
    830And Ile no longer be a Capulet.
    Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this?
    Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy:
    Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague,
    What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote,
    835Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name
    Belonging to a man.
    What? in a names that which we call a Rose,
    By any other word would smell as sweete,
    So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd,
    840Retaine that deare perfection which he owes,
    Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name,
    And for thy name which is no part of thee,
    Take all my selfe.
    Rom. I take thee at thy word:
    845Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd,
    Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo.
    Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night
    So stumblest on my counsell?
    Rom. By a name,
    850I know not how to tell thee who I am:
    My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe,
    Because it is an Enemy to thee,
    Had I it written, I would teare the word.
    Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words
    855Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound.
    Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
    Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike.
    Iul. How cam'st thou hither.
    Tell me, and wherefore?
    860The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe,
    And the place death, considering who thou art,
    If any of my kinsmen find thee here,
    Rom. With Loues light wings
    Did I ore-perch these Walls,
    865For stony limits cannot hold Loue out,
    And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt:
    Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
    Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.
    Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye,
    870Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete,
    And I am proofe against their enmity.
    Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here.
    Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes
    And but thou loue me, let them finde me here,
    875My life were better ended by their hate,
    Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue.
    Iul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
    Rom. By Loue that first did promp me to enquire,
    He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes,
    880I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far
    As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea,
    I should aduenture for such Marchandise.
    Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face,
    Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke,
    885For that which thou hast heard me speake to night,
    Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie
    What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement,
    Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I,
    And
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