✓ Should, in the farthest East, begin to draw
The shady Curtains from Aurora's Bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy Son,
And private in his Chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his Windows, locks fair Day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial Night.
Black and portentous must this Humour prove,
Unless good Counsel may the Cause remove.
Ben. My Noble Uncle, do you know the Cause?
Moun. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Moun. Both by my self, and many other Friends;
But he, his own Affections Counsellor,
Is to himself (I will not say how true)
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from founding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious Worm,
E'er he can spread his sweet Leaves to the Air,
Or dedicate his Beauty to the same.
Could we but learn from whence his Sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.
Ben. See where he comes: so please you step aside,
I'll know his Grievance, or be much deny'd.
Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true Shrift. Come, Madam, let's away. [Exeunt.
Ben. Good Morrow, Coufin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom. Ah me, fad hours seem long.
Was that my Father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ?
Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them short.
Ben. In Love?
Rom. Our
Ben, Of Love?
Rom. Out of her Favour, where I am in Love,
Ben. Alas, that Love so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
Rom. Alas, that Love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without Eyes, see path-ways to his will:
Where shall we dine? - O me!-----what fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all:
Here's much to do with Hate, but more with Love:
Why then, O brawling Love! O loving Hate!
◉ any thing of nothing first create:
O heavy Lightness, serious Vanity,
Mishapen Chaos of well-feeming Forms,
Feather of Lead, bright Smoke, cold Fire, fick Health,
Still-waking Sleep, that is not what it is:
This Love feel I, that feel no Love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben. No Coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good Heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good Heart's Oppression.
Rom. Why such is Love's Transgression.
Griefs of mine own lye heavy in my Breast;
Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest
With more of thine, this Love that thou hast shewn
Doth add more Grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made of the fume of Sighs,
Being purg'd, a Fire sparkling in Lovers Eyes,
Being vext, a Sea nourish'd with loving Tears;
What is it else ? a madness most difcreet,
A choaking Gall, and a preserving Sweet:
Farewel, my Coz.
Ben. Soft, I will go along.
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. But I have lost my self, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in fadness, who is that you love?
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. A fick Man in good sadness makes his will----
O, 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 Marks-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; the hath Dian's Wit:
And in strong proof of Chastity well arm'd;
From Love's weak childish Bow, the lives uncharm'd.
She will not stay the Siege of loving Terms,
Nor bide th' Encounter of affailing Eyes,
Nor ope her Lap to Saint-feducing Gold:
Oshe is rich in Beauty, only poor,
That when the dies, with Beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that the will still live chaftes Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.
For Beauty starv'd with her severity,
Cuts Beauty off from all Posterity.
She is too fair, too wife; wisely too fair,
To merit Bliss by making me defpair:
She hath forsworn to love, and in that Vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine Eyes;
Rom. 'Tis the way to call hers (exquifite) in question more. Those happy Masks that kiss fair Ladies Brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair, He that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious Treasure of his Eye-fight loft. Shew me a Mistress that is passing fair; What doth her Beauty serve, but as a Note, Where I may read who past that passing fair. Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Excunt.
Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.
Cap. Mountague 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 reck'ning 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 faid 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,
E'er we may think her ripe to be a Bride.
Printed in the YEAR 1709.
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