Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a Letter to his Fathers house
Mer. A challenge on my life
Ben. Romeo will answere it
Mer. Any man that can write, may answere a Letter
Ben. Nay, he will answere the Letters Maister how he dares, being dared
Mer. Alas poore Romeo, he is already dead stab"d with a white wenches blacke eye, runne through the eare with a Loue song, the very pinne of his heart, cleft with the blind Bowe-boyes but-shaft, and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why what is Tibalt?
Mer. More then Prince of Cats. Oh hee"s the Couragious Captaine of Complements: he fights as you sing p.r.i.c.ksong, keeps time, distance, and proportion, he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk b.u.t.ton, a Dualist, a Dualist: a Gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause: ah the immortall Pa.s.sado, the Punto reuerso, the Hay
Ben. The what?
Mer. The Pox of such antique lisping affecting phantacies, these new tuners of accent: Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good wh.o.r.e. Why is not this a lamentable thing Grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies: these fashion Mongers, these pardon-mee"s, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench. O their bones, their bones.
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo
Mer. Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady, was a kitchen wench, marrie she had a better Loue to berime her: Dido a dowdie, Cleopatra a Gipsie, h.e.l.len and Hero, hildings and Harlots: Thisbie a gray eie or so, but not to the purpose.
Signior Romeo, Bon iour, there"s a French salutation to your French slop: you gaue vs the counterfait fairely last night
Romeo. Good morrow to you both, what counterfeit did I giue you?
Mer. The slip sir, the slip, can you not conceiue?
Rom. Pardon Mercutio, my businesse was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie
Mer. That"s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams
Rom. Meaning to cursie
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it
Rom. A most curteous exposition
Mer. Nay, I am the very pinck of curtesie
Rom. Pinke for flower
Mer. Right
Rom. Why then is my Pump well flowr"d
Mer. Sure wit, follow me this ieast, now till thou hast worne out thy Pump, that when the single sole of it is worne, the ieast may remaine after the wearing, sole-singular
Rom. O single sol"d ieast, Soly singular for the singlenesse
Mer. Come betweene vs good Benuolio, my wits faints
Rom. Swits and spurs, Swits and spurs, or Ile crie a match
Mer. Nay, if our wits run the Wild-Goose chase, I am done: For thou hast more of the Wild-Goose in one of thy wits, then I am sure I haue in my whole fiue. Was I with you there for the Goose?
Rom. Thou wast neuer with mee for any thing, when thou wast not there for the Goose
Mer. I will bite thee by the eare for that iest
Rom. Nay, good Goose bite not
Mer. Thy wit is a very Bitter-sweeting, It is a most sharpe sawce
Rom. And is it not well seru"d into a Sweet-Goose?
Mer. Oh here"s a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches from an ynch narrow, to an ell broad
Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad, which added to the Goose, proues thee farre and wide, abroad Goose
Mer. Why is not this better now, then groning for Loue, now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou art, by Art as well as by Nature, for this driueling Loue is like a great Naturall, that runs lolling vp and downe to hid his bable in a hole
Ben. Stop there, stop there
Mer. Thou desir"st me to stop in my tale against the haire
Ben. Thou would"st else haue made thy tale large
Mer. O thou art deceiu"d, I would haue made it short, or I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer.
Enter Nurse and her man.
Rom. Here"s a goodly geare.
A sayle, a sayle
Mer. Two, two: a Shirt and a Smocke
Nur. Peter?
Peter. Anon
Nur. My Fan Peter?
Mer. Good Peter to hide her face?
For her Fans the fairer face?
Nur. G.o.d ye good morrow Gentlemen
Mer. G.o.d ye gooden faire Gentlewoman
Nur. Is it gooden?
Mer. "Tis no lesse I tell you: for the bawdy hand of the Dyall is now vpon the p.r.i.c.ke of Noone
Nur. Out vpon you: what a man are you?
Rom. One Gentlewoman, That G.o.d hath made, himselfe to mar
Nur. By my troth it is said, for himselfe to, mar quatha: Gentlemen, can any of you tel me where I may find the young Romeo?
Romeo. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse