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Should, in the fartheft Eaft, begin to draw
Ben. My Noble Uncle, do you know the Caufe?
Ben. See where he comes: fo please you step afide, I'll know his Grievance, or be much deny'd.
Moun. I would thou wert fo happy by thy flay, To hear true Shrift. Come, Madam, let's away. [Exeunt. Ben. Good Morrow, Coufin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new ftruck nine.
Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long.
Was that my Father that went hence fo faft?
Ben. It was: What fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them fhort.
Ben. In Love?
Ben. Of Love?
Rom. Out of her Favour, where I am in Love.
Ben. Alas, that Love fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof.
Rom. Alas, that Love, whofe view is muffled ftill, Should without Eyes, fee path-ways to his will:
Where shall we dine?---O me!-----what fray was here?----
Here's much to do with Hate, but more with Love:
Ben. No Coz, I rather weep.
Ben. Soft, I will go along.
And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Ben. Tell me in fadnefs, who is that you love?
Ben. I aim'd f near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
And in ftrong proof of Chastity well arm'd;
That when the dies, with Beauty dies her ftore.
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Examine other Beauties.
Rom. 'Tis the way to call hers (exquifite) in queftion more.
Ben. I'll pay that doârine, or elfe die in debt. [Exeunt.
Par. Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
Par. Younger than the are happy Mothers made. Cap. And too foon marr'd are those so early made: Earth up hath swallowed all my hopes but the, She is the hopeful Lady of my Earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her Heart, My will to her confent is but a part, And the agree, within her fcope of choice Lies my confent, and fair according Voice: This Night, I hoid an old accuftom'd Feaft, Whereto I have invited many a Gueft, Such as I love, and you among the store, Once more, most welcome makes my number more: At my poor House, look to behold this Night, Earth-treading Stars that make dark Heav'n light, Such comfort as do lufty young Men feel, When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping Winter treads, even fuch delight Among fresh Female buds shall you this Night Inherit at my Houfe; hear all, all fee, And like her moft, whofe merit moft fhall be: Which one more view, of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reck'ning none. Come, go with me. Go, Sirrah, trudge about, Through fair Verona, find thofe Perfons out, Whofe Names are written there, and to them fay, My House and Welcome on their pleasure ftay. [Ex. Cap. Par. Ser. Find them out whofe Names are written here? It is written, that the Shope-maker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find thofe Perfons whofe Names are writ, and can never find what Names the writing Perfon hath here writ, (I muft to the Learned) in good time.
Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut Man, one Fire burns out another's burning,
Rom. Your Plantan Leaf is excellent for that.
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad Man is: Shut up in Prifon, keep without my Food, Whipt and tormented; and-Good-e'en, good Fellow. Ser. God gi' Good-e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own Fortune in my Mifery. Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without Book: But, I pray, can you read any thing you fee? Rom. Ay, if I know the Letters and the Language. Ser. Ye fay honeftly, reft you merry. Rom. Stay Fellow, I can read.
He reads the Letter..
Ignior Martino, and his Wife and Daughter: Count Anfelm and his beauteous Sifters, the Lady Widow of Vitruvio, Signior Placentino, and his lovely Nieces; Mercutio and his Brother Valentine; mine Uncle Capulet, his Wife and Daughters, my fair Niece Rofaline, Livia, Signior Valentio, and his Confin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lovely Helena.
A fair Affembly; whither fhould they come ?
Rom. Whither? to Supper?
Ser. To our House.
Rom. Whofe House ?
Ser. My Mafter's.
Rom. Indeed I fhould have askt you that before. Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My Mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the Houfe of Mountagues, I pray come and crush a Cup of Wine. Reft you
Ben. At this fame ancient Feast of Capulets,