[A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter Romeo]
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.
[He climbs the wall into the garden. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio]
Romeo! My cousin Romeo!
He is wise and, on my life, hath stol'n him home
He ran this way, and leaped this orchard wall.
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh.
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied.
Cry but 'Ay me!', pronounce but 'love' and dove;'
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid — he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it and conjured it down;
That were some spite. My invocation
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night.
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
An open-arse, and thou a popp’rin pear!
Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.
Come, shall we go?
Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.