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Enter Montague and Lady Montague.
Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
[Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, Lady
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar❜d;
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to-` day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you impórtun'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 say, how true-
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
Enter Romeo, at a distance.
Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Ben. But new struck nine.
Is the day so young?
Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's
Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them short.
Ben. In love?
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! 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:Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health;
No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.
Ben. Soft, I will go along ; And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here ; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness*, who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no;
But sadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov❜d. Rom. A right good marks-man-And she's fair I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'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 siege of loving terms,
* In seriousness.
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow,
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.
"Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question more:
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.
* i. e. What end does it answer?