Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 70
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall when there's no strength in men. 80 _Romeo._ Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. _Friar Laurence._ For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. _Romeo._ And bad'st me bury love. _Friar Laurence._ Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have. _Romeo._ I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow,
The other did not so. _Friar Laurence._ O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 90
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. _Romeo._ O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste. _Friar Laurence._ Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
[_Exeunt._SCENE IV. _A Street__Enter_ BENVOLIO _and_ MERCUTIO _Mercutio._ Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night? _Benvolio._ Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. _Mercutio._ Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so that he will sure run mad. _Benvolio._ Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. _Mercutio._ A challenge, on my life. _Benvolio._ Romeo will answer it. _Mercutio._ Any man that can write may answer 10
a letter. _Benvolio._ Nay, he will answer the letter's master,
how he dares, being dared. _Mercutio._ Alas, poor Romeo! he is already dead;
stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough
the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his
heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft; and
is he a man to encounter Tybalt? _Benvolio._ Why, what is Tybalt? _Mercutio._ More than prince of cats, I can tell you. 20
O, he is the courageous captain of compliments! He
fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,
and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two,

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