_Capulet._ Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy.--Is 't so, indeed?-- This trick may chance to scathe you,--I know what. You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.-- Well said, my hearts!--You are a princox; go! Be quiet, or--More light, more light!--For shame! I'll make you quiet. What!--Cheerly, my hearts! 90
_Tybalt._ Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall, Now 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; 100 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.
_Nurse._ Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
_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. 120
_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?