fair. Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe suppos'd 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-beloved any where. But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [_Exit._ 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! Romeo! _Mercutio._ He is wise, And, on my life, hath stolen 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 nickname for her purblind son and heir, Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim When King Cophetua lov'd 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, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! _Benvolio._ An 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 conjur'd it down. That were some spite; my invocation Is fair and honest, and 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.-- 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._ SCENE II. _Capulet's Orchard__Enter_ ROMEO  _Romeo._ He jests at scars that never felt a wound.-- [_Juliet appears above at a window._ But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.-- Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-- It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!-- She speaks, yet she 

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