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 ill Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here? Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: O heavy lightnefs? ferious vanity! Feather of lead, bright imoak, cold fire, fick health, This love feel 1, that feel no love in this. Doft chou not laugh? Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion. Rom. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have them prefs'd With more of thine; this love that thou haft fhewn, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own, Love is a imoak rais'd with the tume of fighs, Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex d, a fea nourifh'd with lovers' tears;; What is it elfe? a madness most difcreet, A choking gall, and a preferving fweet. Farewell, my cousin, Ben. Soft, i'll go along. And if you leave me to, you do me wrong. [Going Rom. Tut, I have loft myself, I am not here; O word ill urg'd to one that is fo ill !- Ben, aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd, I love, and fhe's fair Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit. Rom. But in that hit you mifs;-fhe'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; fhe hath Dian's wit: And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow fhe lives unharm'd. She will not stay the fiege of loving terms, Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to faint feducing gold. O, fhe is rich in beauty; only poor, That when she dies, with her dies Beauty's ftore. Ben. Then he hath fworn, that she will still live chafte? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge For beauty, ftarv'd with her feverity,. Cuts beauty off from all pofterity. She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair, She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow [wafte. Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I fhould forget to think,. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;, Examine other beauties. Rom. 'Tis the way To call her's (exquifite) in queftion more; Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt SCENE III. Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard Par Of honourable reck'ning are you both, Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before: She hath not feen the change of fourteen years; Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made. And like her moft whofe merit moft fhall be [Exeunt Capulet and Paris, Ser. Find them out whofe names are written here?It is written that the fhoemaker fhould meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his laft, the fifher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find those persons whofe names are here writ? and can never find what names the writing perfon 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, Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning; And the rank poison of the old will die. Rom. Your plantan-leaf is excellent for that. Rom. For your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is : Shut up in prifon, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented : and-Good e'en, good fellow. [To the Servant. 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. He reads the letter. Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count Anfelm, and his beauteous fifters; the Lady, widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Gapulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair affembly; whither fhould they come? Ser. Up. Rom. Whither? Ser. To fupper, to our houfe, Rom. Whofe houfe? Ser. My master's. Rom. Indeed I fhould have afk'd you that before. Ser. Now I'll tell you without afking. 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. Reft you merry. [Exit. Ben. At this fame ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all th' admired beauties of Verona. Go thither, and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I fhall show, And I will make thee think thy fwan a crow. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains fuch falfehoods, then turn tears to fires! And these who, often drown'd, could never die, Tranfparent heretics, be burnt for lyars! One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing fun Ne'er faw her match fince firft the world begun. Ben. Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none else being by; Herfelf pois'd with herself, in either eye But in thofe cryftal fcales, let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid, That I will fhew you, thining at this feast; And the will fhew fcant well, that now thews beft. Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be fhewn ; But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to Capulet's house. Enter lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurfe, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurfe. Now (by my maidenhead, at twelve years old) I bade her come; what, lamb,-what, lady.bird, God forbid!. -where's this girl? what, Juliet? Enter Juliet. Jul. How now, who calls? Nurfe. Your mother. Jul Madam, I am here, what is your will? La. Cap. This is the matter. Nurfe give leave a while, we must talk in fecret: nurie, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our countel: thou know'lt my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurfe. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it fpoken, I have but four), fhe's not fourteen, |