PROLOGUE
 Enter CHORUS.

Chorus	Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
		And young affection gapes to be his heir;
	That fair for which love groaned for and would die,
		With tender Juliet matched, is now not fair.
	Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
		Alike bewitchd by the charm of looks;
	But to his foe supposed 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 belovd anywhere.
	But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
	Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
											[Exit.

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 withdraws.

                       Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.

Benvolio	Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!

Mercutio									He is wise,
	And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.

Benvolio	He ran this way and leapt 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 Abram 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.
	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.

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.
	That were some spite - my invocation
	Is fair and honest. 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.
	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.
	O Romeo, that she were, O that she were
	An open-arse, and 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?

Benvolio							Go then, for 'tis in vain
	To seek him here that means not to be found.
											[Exeunt BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
