2:1

ACT II
PROLOGUE
Enter Chorus
Chorus
Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,And young affection gapes to be his heir;That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,But to his foe supposed he must complain,And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:Being held a foe, he may not have accessTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;And she as much in love, her means much lessTo meet her new-beloved any where:But passion lends them power, time means, to meetTempering extremities with extreme sweet.
Exit
SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.
Enter ROMEO
ROMEO
Can I go forward when my heart is here?Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO
BENVOLIO
Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
MERCUTIO
He is wise;And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.
BENVOLIO
He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:Call, good Mercutio.
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 trim,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 thighAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
BENVOLIO
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
MERCUTIO
This cannot anger him: 'twould anger himTo raise a spirit in his mistress' circleOf some strange nature, letting it there standTill she had laid it and conjured it down;That were some spite: my invocationIs fair and honest, and in his mistres s' nameI conjure only but to raise up him.
BENVOLIO
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,To be consorted with the humorous night:Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
MERCUTIO
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 fruitAs maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.Romeo, that she were, O, that she wereAn open et caetera, 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?
BENVOLIO
Go, then; for 'tis in vainTo seek him here that means not to be found.
Exeunt