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    Act 2. Scene I

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    Chapter 8
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    SCENE I. 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

    Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

    BENVOLIO
    Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

    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.
    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 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.
    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, and in his mistres s' 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.
    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?

    BENVOLIO
    Go, then; for 'tis in vain
    To seek him here that means not to be found.

    Exeunt
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