Part 456 (1/2)

Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. 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?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is. .h.i.ther come in spite To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Cap. Young Romeo is it?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.

'A bears him like a portly gentleman, And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.

I would not for the wealth of all this town Here in my house do him disparagement.

Therefore be patient, take no note of him.

It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest.

I'll not endure him.

Cap. 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? G.o.d shall mend my soul!

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will set c.o.c.k-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

Cap. Go to, go to!

You are a saucy boy. Is't so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what.

You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.- Well said, my hearts!- You are a princ.o.x- go!

Be quiet, or- More light, more light!- For shame!

I'll make you quiet; what!- Cheerly, my hearts!

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall. Exit.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blus.h.i.+ng pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r.

Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!

They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom. Then move not while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kisses her.]

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespa.s.s sweetly urg'd!

Give me my sin again. [Kisses her.]

Jul. You kiss by th' book.