seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. _Romeo._ [To Juliet] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. _Juliet._ 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. _Romeo._ Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? _Juliet._ Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. _Romeo._ O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. _Juliet._ Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. _Romeo._ Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips by thine my sin is purg'd. [_Kissing her._ _Juliet._ Then have my lips the sin that they have took. _Romeo._ Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again. _Juliet._ You kiss by the book. _Nurse._ Madam, your mother craves a word with you. _Romeo._ What is her mother? _Nurse._ Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. _Romeo._ Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. _Benvolio._ Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. _Romeo._ Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. _Capulet._ Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-- Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.-- More torches here!--Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest. [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._ _Juliet._ Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? _Nurse._ The son and heir of old Tiberio. _Juliet._ What's he that now is going out of door? _Nurse._ Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. _Juliet._ What's he that follows there, that would not dance? _Nurse._ I know not. _Juliet._ Go, ask his name.--If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. _Nurse._ His name is Romeo, and a Montague, The only son of your great enemy. _Juliet._ My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. _Nurse._ What's this? what's this? _Juliet._ A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danc'd withal. [_One calls within, 'Juliet.'] _Nurse._ Anon, anon!-- Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [_Exeunt._ ACT II_Enter_ Chorus  Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not 

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