_Iul_: Goe learne his name, if he be maried, My graue is like to be my wedding bed. 110 _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 is this to me, 115 That I should loue a loathed enemie. Nurse: _Whats this? whats that?_ _Iul_: Nothing Nurse but a rime I learnt euen now of oue I dancst with. Nurse: _Come your mother staies for you, Ile goe a long_ _with you._ _Exeunt._ [Sidenote: [SC. VI.]] _Enter Romeo alone._ _Ro_: Shall I goe forward and my heart is here? Turne backe dull earth and finde thy Center out. _Enter Benuolio Mercutio_. _Ben: Romeo_, my cosen _Romeo_. _Mer_: Doest thou heare he is wise, Vpon my life he hath stolne him home to bed. 5 _Ben_: He came this way, and leapt this Orchard wall. Call good _Mercutio._ _Mer_: Call, nay Ile coniure too. _Romeo_, madman, humors, passion, liuer, appeare thou in likenes of a sigh: speek but one rime & I am satisfied, cry 10 but ay me. Pronounce but Loue and Doue, speake to my gossip _Venus_ one faire word, one nickname for her purblinde sonne and heire young _Abraham: Cupid_ hee that shot so trim when young King _Cophetua_ loued the begger wench. Hee heares me not. I coniure thee by 15 _Rosalindes_ bright eye, high forehead, and scarlet lip, her prettie foote, straight leg, and quiuering thigh, and the demaines that there adiacent lie, that in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs. _Ben_: If he doe heare thee thou wilt anger him. 20 _Mer_: Tut this cannot anger him, marrie if one shuld raise a spirit in his Mistris circle of some strange fashion, making it there to stand till she had laid it, and coniurde it downe, that were some spite. My inuocation is faire and honest, and in his Mistris name I coniure onely but 25 to raise vp him. _Ben_: Well he hath hid himselfe amongst those trees, To be consorted with the humerous night, Blinde in his loue, and best befits the darke. _Mer_: If loue be blind, loue will not hit the marke, 30 Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistris were that kinde of fruite, As maides call Medlers when they laugh alone. Ah _Romeo_ that she were, ah that she were An open _Et cætera_, thou a poprin Peare. 35 _Romeo_ God night, il'e to my trundle bed: This field bed is too cold for mee. Come lets away, for tis but vaine, To seeke him here that meanes not to be found.