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To wield old partisans, 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.

S CENE II.

La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary, And your's, clofe 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! faw you him to-day? Right glad am I he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd fun 'Pear'd through the golden window of the east, 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 molt are bufied when they're most alone), Purfued my humour, not pursuing him; And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew; Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:

P

But all fo foon as the all-cheering fun
Should, in the fartheft eat, 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 must this humour prove,
Unless good counfel may the caufe remove.

Ben. My Noble uncle, do you know the caufe?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him..
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself 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 ciofe,
So far from founding and difcovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Fre he can spread his fweet wings to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

grow,

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

Mon. I would thou wert fo happy by thy stay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away.

[Exeunt

Ben. Good morrow, coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new truck nine.

Rom. Ak me, fad hours feem long!

Was that my father that went hence fo fast ?

Ben. It was: what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?"
Rom Not having that, which having makes them

fhort.

Ben. In love?

Rom. Out--

Ben. Of love?

Rem. Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ben. Alas, that love fo gentle in his view,

Should

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Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

[here?

Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled still, Should without eyes fee path-ways to his ill! Where fhall we dine? O me!What fray was Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! Oh, any thing of nothing first create! O heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity! Mif-thapen chaos of well-feeming forms! Feather of lead, bright fmoak, cold fire, fick health, Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Doft thou 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 hast shewn, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a fmoak rais'd with the fume of fighs, Being purge'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd. a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; What is it elfe a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preferving fweet. Farewel, my coufin.

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

you leave me fo, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have loft myself, I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's fome other where.

And if

[Going.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who fhe is you love.
Rom. What, fhall I grone, and tell thee?
Ben. Grone? why, no; but fadly tell me who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadness make his will?
O word ill urge'd to one that is so ill !-
In fadnefs, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marksman ; and fhe's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit.

Rew

fhe'll not be hit

Rom: But in that hit you mifs;-
With Cupid's arrow; the 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, the is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when the dies, with her dies Beauty's ftore..

Ben. Then the hath fworn, that the will till live chafte?

Rom. She hath, and in that fparing makes huge For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.

[wafle.

She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs by making me defpair;
She hath forfworn 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 fhould forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

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Rom. 'Tis the way.

To call her's (exquifite) in queftion more;
Thofe happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treafure of his eye-fight loft.
Shew me a miftrefs that is paffing fair;
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe 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
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 fo long.
But now, my Lord, what fay you to my fuit?

Cap.

Cap But faying o'er what I have faid before :
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen 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 fhe are happy mothers made. Cap. And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made. The earth hath fwallow'd 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; If the agree, within her fcope of choice Lies my confent, and fair according voice. This night I hold an old-accuftom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more, At my poor houfe, look to behold this night Earth-treading ftars that make dark even 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 fhall you this night Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee. And like her moft whofe merit most shall be : Which on more view of many, mine, being one, May ftand in number, though in reck'ning none. Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those perfons out, Whofe names are written there; and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [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, and the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find thofe perfons 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

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