Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled fil,
Should without eyes see path-ways to his ill:
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 :
Wby then, O brawling love ! o loving hate !
Ob, any thing of nothing first create !
O heavy lightness ? serious vanity!
Mif. Ihapen chaos of well-leeming forms !
Feather of lead, bright imoak, cold fire, fick health,
Still-waking feep; that is not what it is !
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.

Ron. Why, such is love's tranfgreflion.
Griefs of mine owo lie heavy in my breat ;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them press’d
With more of thine ; this love that thou haft shewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own,
Love is a imoak rais’d with the lume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire (parkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a fea nourilh'd with lovers' tears ;
What is it elfe ? a madness molt discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweets
Farewell, my cousin,

[Going; Ben, Sott, i'll go along. And it

you

leave me. io, you do me wrong:
Rom. Iut, I have lost mylelf, I am not here;
This is not Romico, hes fome other where.

Ben, Tell me in saaneis, who she is you love.
Rom. What, thall i grone, and tell chee?
Ben. Grone why, no; but sadly tell me who.

Rom. Bid a fick aan ju sadness make his, will ?
O word ill urg'd to one that is so ill !.
In fadnels, confin, i do love a woman,

Ben, daim'd lo ncar, wheo I suppos’d you lov'd.
Rom. A right.gooủ markíusan; and she’s fair

I love
Ben. A right fáir mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Rom. But in that hit you miss ;-The'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit :
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she 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, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That when she dies, with her dies Beauty's store.
Ben. Then she bath sworn, that she will still live:

chalte?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge
For beauty, farv'd with her severity,

(waste.
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair ;
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 ;,.
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way
To call her's (exquisite) in question more ;
Those happy malks that kiss fair ladies' brows;
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight lost.
Shew me a mistress that is palling fair ;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that paffing fair!
Farewel, thou canst not teach' mě to torget.
Beni I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

[-Exeunt: SCENE TIF. Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servantó

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men fo 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 fuit ?

[ocr errors]

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 fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth bath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; It the agree, within her scope of choice Lies my confent, and fair according voice. This night I hold an old-accustom'd fealt, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you among the store, Onc more, most welcome, makes my nuiñber more. At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark even light, . Such comfort as do lusty young men feels When well-apparell’d April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female-buds shall you this night Inherit at my house ; hear all, all fee, And like her most whose merit most shall be ; Which one more view of many; mine, being one, May fand in number, though in reck’ning none. Come, go with me, Go, firrah; trädgë about Through fair Verona ; find those persons out, Whose names are written there ; and to theni say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris, Ser. 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 fither 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 mult to the learned.- In goud time,

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish :
Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning;

One desperate grief cure with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan-leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom. 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,
Whipp'd and tormented : andGood 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 misery.

Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Ser. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry. Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.

He reads the letter. Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters ; Count Anselm, and his beauteous fifters; the Lady, avidow of Vio truvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces ; Mercutia and his brother Valentine ; mine uncle Gapulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rofaline ; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt ; Lucio, and the lively Helena, A fair assembly;, whither should they come?

Ser. Up. -
Rom, Whither ?
Ser. To supper, to our house,
Rom, Whole houle?
Ser: My master's,
Rom. Indeed I should have ask'd you that before,

Şer. 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. Reit you merry,

[Exiti

Ben. At this fame ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, 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 Thall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehoods, then turn tears to fires! And these who, often drown'd, could never die,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for lyars!
One fairer than my love! thi' all-feeing fun
Ne'er saw her match since firit the world begun.

Ben. Tut! tut ! you saw her fair, none elle being by; Herself pois'd with herself, in either

eye :
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid,
That I will fhew you, thining at this feait ;
And she will shew scant well, that now thews best.

Rom, I'll go along, no such fight to be fewn;
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.. Changes to Capulet's house.

Enter lady Capulet and Nurse. La, Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth

to me.

Nurse. Now (by my maidenhead, at twelve years old) 1 bade her come ; what, lamb, --what, lady, bird, God forbid !-- Where's this girl? what, Juliet?

Enter Juliet.
Jul. How now, who calls ?
Nurse. Your mother.
Juí MadamI am here, what is your will ?

La. Cap. This is the matter. Nurle, give leave a while, we must talk in secret : nurte, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our countel : thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of iny teeth, (and yet to my teen be it fpoken, I have but four), she's not fourteen,

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »