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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 pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
At thy good heart's oppression.
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aimed so near when I supposed you loved. Rom. A right good marksman!—And she's fair I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Rom. She hath; and in that sparing makes huge waste:
For beauty, starved with her severity,
Ben. Be ruled 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.
To call her's, exquisite, in question more.
SCENE II-A Street.
Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 't is not hará, Í think,
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
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.
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
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 lessened by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's lan
Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plaintain 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 is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food Whipped and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.
Serv. God gi' good-e'en. I pray, sir, can you read?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book: But I pray, can you read anything you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the lan
Serv. Ye say honestly: rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow: I can read.
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 gives back the note]. Whither should they come?
Serv. To supper; 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. [Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Susan and she-God rest all Christian souls!-
I trow, l'o bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years: For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rond, 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.”
Lady C. Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy
Lady C. What say you? can you love the gentleman ?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
The fish lives in the sea; and 't is much pride
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by
Lady C. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called,.my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait: I beseech you, follow straight.
Lady C. We follow thee.-Juliet, the County
Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torchbearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity. We'll have no Cupid hoodwinked with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling:
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing-shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.
Rom. I am too sore empiercéd with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love: Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love:
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in.
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two