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ACT II. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within.

I hear some noise within: dear love, adieu!— Anon, good nurse!—Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [ Exit.

Rom. O blessed blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JutiET, above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. I come, anon.—But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee,— Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. By and by; I come.— To cease thy strife, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. Rom.

So thrive my soul,— Jul. A thousand times good night! 24

(Exit.

Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.— Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [ Retiring. Re-enter JuizrEet, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tercel-gentle back again!

Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, And make her airy voice more hoarse than mine With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My dear!

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee?

Rom. By the hour of nine.

Jul. J will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here, till thou remember it.

Jul. I shall forget to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.:

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee

gone; And yet no further than a wanton's bird,