_Iul_: My eares haue not yet drunk a hundred words 95 Of that tongues vtterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not _Romeo_ and a _Mountague_? _Ro_: Neyther faire Saint, if eyther thee displease. _Iu_: How camst thou hether, tell me and wherfore? The Orchard walles are high and hard to clime, 100 And the place death considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen finde thee here. _Ro_: By loues light winges did I oreperch these wals, For stonie limits cannot hold loue out, And what loue can doo, that dares loue attempt, 105 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. _Iul_: If they doe finde thee they will murder thee. _Ro_: Alas there lies more perrill in thine eyes, Then twentie of their swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmitie. 110 _Iul_: I would not for the world they shuld find thee here. _Ro_: I haue nights cloak to hide thee from their sight, And but thou loue me let them finde me here: For life were better ended by their hate, Than death proroged wanting of thy loue. 115 _Iul_: By whose directions foundst thou out this place. _Ro_: By loue, who first did prompt me to enquire, I he gaue me counsaile and I lent him eyes. I am no Pilot: yet wert thou as farre As that vast shore, washt with the furthest sea, 120 I would aduenture for such Marchandise. _Iul_: Thou knowst the maske of night is on my face, Els would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeks: For that which thou haste heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine faine denie, 125 What I haue spoke: but farewell complements. Doest thou loue me? Nay I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word: but if thou swearst, Thou maiest proue false: At Louers periuries they say Ioue smiles. 130 Ah gentle _Romeo_, if thou loue pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinke I am too easely wonne, Il'e frowne and say thee nay and be peruerse, So thou wilt wooe: but els not for the world, In truth faire _Mountague_, I am too fond, 135 And therefore thou maiest thinke my hauiour light: But trust me gentleman Ile proue more true, Than they that haue more cunning to be strange. I should haue bin strange I must confesse, But that thou ouer-heardst ere I was ware 140 My true loues Passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered. _Ro_: By yonder blessed Moone I sweare, That tips with siluer all these fruit trees tops. 145 _Iul_: O sweare not by the Moone the vnconstant Moone, That monthlie changeth in her circled orbe, Least that thy loue proue likewise variable.