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Enler BENVOLIO, at a distance. Gre. Say—better: here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.

Tyb. What! art thou drawn among these heart

less hinds ? Turn thee, Benvolio ; look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace : put up thy

sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate

the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward.

[They fighl.

me go.


Enter several persons of both Houses, who join the And stole into the covert of the wood:

fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs or par- I, measuring his affections by my own, tisans.

Which then most sought, where most might not 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat

be found, them down!

Being one too many by my weary self, Down with the Capulets! down with the Mon

Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, tagues !

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, Enter Capulet, in his gown; and Lady CAPULET. With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Cap. What noise is this ?-Give me my long

Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs : sword, ho!

But all so soon as the all-cheering sun La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch !-Why call you

Should in the furthest east begin to draw for a sword ?

The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Cap. My sword, I say !-Old Montague is come,

Away from light steals home my heavy son, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

And private in his chamber pens himself;

Shuts up his windows, locks sair daylight out, Enter MONTAGUE and Lady MontagUE. And makes himself an artificial night. Mon. Thou villain Capulet!-Hold me not; let

Black and portentous must this humour prove,

Unless good counsel may the cause remove. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?

Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means ? Enter Prince, with his train.

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends : Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, But he, his own affections' counsellor, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,

Is to himself-I will not say, how trueWill they not hear ?--what ho! you men, you But to himself so secret and so close, beasts,

So far from sounding and discovery, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

As is the bud bit with an envious worm, With purple fountains issuing from your veins, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground, Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, And hear the sentence of your moved prince.- We would as willingly give cure, as know. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Enter Romeo, at a distance. Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets;

Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step And made Verona's ancient citizens

aside; Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. To wield old partisans, in hands as old,

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate. To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away. If ever you disturb our streets again,

[Ereunt MONTAGUE and Lady. Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace:

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. For this time, all the rest depart away.


Is the day so young ? You, Capulet, shall go along with me;

Ben. But new struck nine. And, Montague, come you this afternoon,


Ah me! sad hours seem long. To know our further pleasure in this case,

Was that my father that went hence so fast ? To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.

Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

hours ? [Ereunt Prince and Attendants ; CAPULET, Lady Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Servants.

them short. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?

Ben. In love? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began ?

Rom. Out. Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,

Ben. Of love? And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach.

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. I drew to part them: in the instant came

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d; Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Should without eyes see pathways to his will ! Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. Where shall we dine ?-0 me !-What fray was While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,

here? Came more and more, and fought on part and part,

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Till the prince came, who parted either part. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: La. Mon. O! where is Romeo ?-saw you him Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! to-day ?

O any thing, of nothing first created !
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

O heavy lightness ! serious vanity!
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is !Where, underneath the grove of sycamore

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. That westward rooteth from the city's side,

Dost thou not laugh? So early walking did I see your son.


No, coz; I rather weep. Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, Rom. Good heart, at what?


At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd
With more of thine : this love, that thou hast

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke, made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lover's tears :
What is it else ? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

(Going Ben.

Soft, I will go along : And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

Rom. Tut! I have lost myself ; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.
Rom. What! shall I groan, and tell thee?

Groan! why, no; But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will ; A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill.In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good mark-man-And she's fair

I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be

hit With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit; And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,

From love's weak childish bow she lives upharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O! she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live

chaste? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair :
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be ruld by me; forget to think of her.
Rom. O! teach me how I should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Examine other beauties.

'Tis the way
To call her's, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair :
He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair?
Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.


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SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before ;
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years :
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, One more most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel, When well-appareld April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house : hear all, all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Which, on more view of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckoning none. Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out, Whose names are written there, and to them say,

[Giving a paper. My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

(Exeunt CAPULET and Paris. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned :-in good time.

Enter BENVOLio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman

Serv. Perhaps you have learn d it without book; but I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.
Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry.
Rom. Stay, fellow; I

can read.

[Reads. "Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena." A fair assembly; whither should they come!

Serv. Up.
Rom. Whither? to supper ?
Serv. To our house.
Rom. Whose house?
Serv. My master's.
Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before.

Serv. Now, I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Erit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st, With all the admired beauties of Verona : Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid, That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.- A Room in CAPULET's House.

Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her

forth to me. Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head at twelve year

old, I bade her come. - What, lamb! what, lady-bird ! God forbid !-where's this girl ?-what, Juliet!

Enter JULIET. Jul. How now! who calls ? Nurse.

Your mother. Jul.

Madam, I am here. What is your will ? La. Cap. This is the matter.-Nurse, give leave

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again:
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel.
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet to my teen be it spoken I have but four,
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide ?

is :

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp’d, and tormented, and—Good-den, good

fellow. Serv. God gi' good den.-I pray, sir, can you

read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

La. Cap.

A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls ! Were of an age.-Well

, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me. But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ;
That shall she, marry: I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd, - I never shall forget it,-
Of all the days of the year, upon that day ;
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall:
My lord and you were then at Mantua.-

Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years ;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about,
For even the day before she broke her brow :
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man,—took up the child :
“Yea," quoth'he,“ dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;


Wilt thou not, Jule ?” and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—“ Ay."
To see, now, how a jest shall come about !
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: “Wilt thou not, Jule ?

quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—“Ay.” La. Cap. Enough of this: I pray thee, hold thy

peace. Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but

laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say—“Ay:"

And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone,
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.

Yea," quoth my husband, “ fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?" it stinted, and said—“Ay."

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to

his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

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