Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke
Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd:
Giue me my sin againe
Iul. You kisse by'th' booke
Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you
Rom. What is her Mother?
Nurs. Marrie Batcheler,
Her Mother is the Lady of the house,
And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous,
I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall haue the chincks
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O deare account! My life is my foes debt
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best
Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest
Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards:
Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night:
More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest
Iuli. Come hither Nurse,
What is yond Gentleman:
Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio
Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore?
Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio
Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance?
Nur. I know not
Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedded bed
Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely Sonne of your great Enemie
Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,
Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me,
That I must loue a loathed Enemie
Nur.
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