Iu: What man art thou, that thus beskrind in night,
Doest stumble on my counsaile? 90
Ro: By a name I know not how to tell thee.
My name deare Saint is hatefull to my selfe,
Because it is an enemie to thee.
Had I it written I would teare the word.
Iul: My eares haue not yet drunk a hundred words 95
Of that tongues vtterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Mountague?
Ro: Neyther faire Saint, if eyther thee displease.
Iu: How camst thou hether, tell me and wherfore?
The Orchard walles are high and hard to clime, 100
And the place death considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen finde thee here.
Ro: By loues light winges did I oreperch these wals,
For stonie limits cannot hold loue out,
And what loue can doo, that dares loue attempt, 105
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
Iul: If they doe finde thee they will murder thee.
Ro: Alas there lies more perrill in thine eyes,
Then twentie of their swords, looke thou but sweete,
And I am proofe against their enmitie. 110
Iul: I would not for the world they shuld find thee here.
Ro: I haue nights cloak to hide thee from their sight,
And but thou loue me let them finde me here:
For life were better ended by their hate,
Than death proroged wanting of thy loue. 115