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

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 fight.


me go.

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

fray; then enter Citizens, wilh 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, thein 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 fair 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 ? foe.

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,

[Exeunt 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 ? [Exeunt Prince and Attendants ; CAPULET, Lady Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Serrants.

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,

Rum. 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. From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm’d. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.- She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ;

Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : With more of thine : this love, that thou hast O! she is rich in beauty; only poor, shown,

That when she dies with beauty dies her store. Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live Love is a smoke, made with the fume of sighs;

chaste? Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lover's tears :

waste; What is it else? a madness most discreet,

For beauty, starv'd with her severity, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Cuts beauty off from all posterity. Farewell, my coz.

(Going. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, Ben. Soft, I will go along :

To merit bliss by making me despair :
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself ; I am not here; Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Be rul'd by me; forget to think of her.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. O! teach me how I should forget to think.
Rom. What! shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:

Groan! why, no;

Examine other beauties. But sadly tell me, who.


'Tis the way Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will; To call her's, exquisite, in question more. A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill.

These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair : Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget Rom. A right good mark-man-And she's fair The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. I love.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair, Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair ? hit

Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit;

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,


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SCENE II.-A Street.

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book;

but I pray, can you read any thing you see? Enter CAPULET, Paris, and Servant.

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.

Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry. Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,

Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads. In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

“ Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;

County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ; the And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.

lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio, and his But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ?

lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before ;

mine uncle Capulet, his wise, and daughters; my My child is yet a stranger in the world,

fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and She hath not seen the change of fourteen years :

his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena." Let two more summers wither in their pride, A fair assembly; whither should they come! Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Serv. Up.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Rom. Whither? to supper ?

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. Serv. To our house.
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,

Rom. Whose house? She is the hopeful lady of my earth:

Serv. My master's. But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. My will to her consent is but a part;

Serv. Now, I'll tell you without asking. My An she agree, within her scope of choice

master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not Lies my consent and fair according voice.

of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,

of wine. Rest you merry.

Erit. Whereto I have invited many a guest,

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulei's Such as I love; and you among the store,

Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st,
One more most welcome, makes my number more. With all the admired beauties of Verona :
At my poor house look to behold this night

Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: Compare her face with some that I shall show,
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel,

And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. When well-apparel'd April on the heel

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Of limping winter treads, even such delight

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; Among fresh female buds shall you this night And these, who, often drown'd, could never die, Inherit at my house: hear all, all see,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. And like her most, whose merit most shall be: One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Which, on more view of many, mine being one, Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun. May stand in number, though in reckoning none. Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; Through fair Verona; find those persons out, But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd Whose names are written there, and to them say, Your lady's love against some other maid,

[Giving a paper. That I will show you shining at this feast, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. And she shall scant show well, that now shows best. (Ereunt CAPULET and Paris.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, Serv. Find them out, whose names are written But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. (Exeunt. here? It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, SCENE III.-A Room in CAPULET's House. the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose

Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse. names are here writ, and can never find what names

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter ? call her the writing person hath here writ. I must to the

forth to me. learned :-in good time.

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

old, Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

I bade her come.- What, lamb! what, lady-bird !Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, God forbid !-where's this girl ?—what, Juliet!

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

Enter JULIET. One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Jul. How now! who calls ? Take thou some new infection to thy eye,


Your mother. And the rank poison of the old will die.


Madam, I am here. Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. What is your will ? Ben. For what, I pray thee?

La. Cap. This is the matter.-Nurse, give leave Rom. For your broken shin.

awhile, Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ?

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again: Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. is :

Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. Whipp’d, and tormented, and-Good-den, good La. Cap. She's not fourteen. fellow.


I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, Serv. God gi' good den.-I pray, sir, can you And yet to my teen be it spoken I have but four, read?

She is not fourteen. How long is it now Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. To Lammas-tide ?




La. Cap.

A fortnight, and odd days. Nay, I do bear a brain :—but, as I said,
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,

When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls ! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God; Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I trow,
She was too good for me. But, as I said,

To bid me trudge.
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; And since that time it is eleven years;
That shall she, marry : I remember it well. For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;

She could have run and waddled all about,
And she was wean'd, I never shall forget it, - For even the day before she broke her brow :
Of all the days of the year, upon that day ;

And then my husband—God be with his soul!
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 'A was a merry man,-took up the child :
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall: “Yea," quoth'he, "dost thou fall upon thy face?
My lord and you were then at Mantua.-

Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;



Wilt thou not, Jule?" and, by my holy-dam, And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—“ Ay." A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone,
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!

A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, “Yea,” quoth my husband, “ fallist upon thy face?
I never should forget it: “Wilt thou not, Jule ?" Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
quoth he;

Wilt thou not, Jule?" it stinted, and said—“Ay." And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—“Ay." Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

I La. Cap. Enough of this: I pray thee, hold thy Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to peace.

bis grace!
Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursd:

An I might live to see thee married once,
To think it should leave crying, and say—“Ay:" I have my wish.



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