Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.
Act 2 Scene 1
He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall.Call, good Mercutio.
Romeo, my cousin Romeo! Romeo!
And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.
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 nickname for her purblind son and heir,Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trueWhen 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.
An 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. 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.
Go, then, for ’tis in vain to seek him here that means not to be found.
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. O Romeo, that she were! Oh, that she were an open arse, and thou a poperin pear. Romeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle bed. This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. Come, shall we go?