Greg. That fhews thee a weak flave; for the weakeft goes to the wall.

Sam. True, and therefore women, being the weakeft, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thruft his maids to the wall.

Greg. The quarrel is between our mafters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew my self a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.

Greg. The heads of the maids?

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or the maidenheads, take it in what fenfe thou wilt.

Greg. They must take it in fenfe, that feel it.

Sam. Me they fhall feel, while I am able to ftand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish: if thou hadft, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of the Houfe of the Montagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Greg. How, turn thy back and run ?

Sam. Fear me not.

Greg. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our fides: let them begin. Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it. as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a difgrace to them if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?

Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the law on our fide, if I fay, ay?

Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir: but I bite my thumb, Sir.

Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?

Abr.

Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I ferve as good a

man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say, better: here comes one of my mafter's kinfmen.

Sam. Yes, better, Sir

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy fwashing blow.

[They fight Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, you know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword, Or manage it to part thefe 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.

Enter three or four citizens with clubs.

[Fight

Offic. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.

Cap. What noife is this? give me my long fword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for

a fword?

Cap. My fword, I fay old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet

me go.

Hold me not, let

La. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a foe.

Enter Prince with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this neighbour-ftained fteel
Will they not hear? what ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains iffuing from your veins ;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice difturb'd the Quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's antient Citizens

Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,

Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the reft depart away,
You Capulet, fhall go along with me ;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.
La. Mon. Who fet this antient quarrel new abroach ;
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?
Ben. Here were the fervants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He fwung about his head, and cut the winds.
Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn.

While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, "Till the Prince came, who parted either Part.

La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad:
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That weftward rooteth from the City fide,
So early walking did I fee your fon.

Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And ftole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are bufied when they're most alone,)
Purfued my humour, not purfuing him ;
And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew;
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-cheering Sun
Should, in the fartheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,
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 muft this humour prove,
Unless good counfel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by my felf and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not fay, how true;
But to himself fo fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and discovery;

As is the bud bit with an envious worm, (1)

(1) As is the Bud, bit with an envious Worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet Leaves to the Air,

Ere

Or

Ere he can spread his fweet wings to the Air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.
Enter Romeo.

Ben. See, where he comes: fo please you, step afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy ftay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away. [Exe. 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 so fast ?

Ben. It was: what fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours ? Rom. Not having That, which, having, makes them fhort.

Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

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 fhall we dine?

here?

O me!

What fray was

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Same.] To the fame? Sure, all the Lovers of Shakespeare and Poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, dragging Parapleromatic, as the Grammarians ftyle it. But our Author generally in his Similies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have Overcharg❜d this so infipidly. When we come to consider, that there is fome power else besides balmy Air, that brings forth, and makes the tender Buds spread themfelves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote;

Or dedicate his Beauty to the Sun. Or, according to the more obfolete Spelling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the Traces of the corrupted Text,

Yet