PRELIMINARY SKETCH FOR SEVENTH INNER SCENE: JONES
BENVOLIO Romeo! My cousin Romeo!... He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.
MERCUTIO Nay, I’ll conjure, too: Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover!— I conjure thee by thy true love’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!— He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not.
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 ... Romeo, good-night: I’ll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?
[They disappear, swallowed up in black shadow. And now the shadow, shifting, leaves bare in mellow moonshine a glimpse of the garden and the balcony, where Juliet, bending forward, calls mysteriously into the dark below:]
JULIET Hist! Romeo! hist! O for a falconer’s voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine With repetition of my Romeo’s name.
ROMEO [Emerging, below, from the shadow.] It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!