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 lliall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away,
You Capulet shall 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 C Ε Ν Ε II. La. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And your's, 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, hiss’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. Nlon. 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 fun 'Pear'd through the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad : Where underneath the grove of sycamour, That westward rooteth from the city-side, So early walking did I see your fon. Tow'rds him I made; but he was ’ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood. 1, measuring his affections by my own, (That most are busied when they're most alone), Pursued my humour, not pursuing him; And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me.

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

T

But all fo soon as the all-cheering sun
Should, in the farthest east, begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
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 counsel may the cause reinove.

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?

Alon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not say how true;
But to himself so secret and so ciose,
So far from founding and discovery ;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet wings to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

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

tion. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true Thrift. Come, Madam, let's away.

[Exeunt:
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new itruck nine.

Rom. Ak me, lad hours seem long !
Was that my father that went hence so fast ?

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

short.
Ben. In love?
Rom. Out-
Ben. Of love?
Rom, Out of her favour, where I am in love:
Ben. Alas, that love to gentle in his view,

Should

Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without

eyes

see path-ways to his ill!
Where shall we dine ? -O me! What fray was
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. [here?
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 lightness! serious vanity !
Mif-thapen chaos of well-feeming forms !
Feather of lead, bright smoak, cold fire, fick health,
Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben. No, cor, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Rom. Why, such is love's tranfgreflion.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them press’d
With more of thine; this love that thou hast shewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoak rais’d with the fume of sighs,
Being purge'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears ;
What is it elfer a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewel, my cousin.

[Going Ben. Soft, I'll go along. And if you leave me fo, 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, Thall I grone, and tell thee?
Ben. Grone ? why, no; but sadly tell me whe.

Rom. Bid a fick man in sadness make his will ?
O word ill urge'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 marksman; and she's fair

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

Rer.

Rom: But 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 childith bow the lives unharm’d.
She will not stay the hege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide 'th' encounter of affiling eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.
0, she is rich in beauty ; only poor,
That when she dies, with hier dies Beauty's store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live

chafte?
R91. She liath, and in that sparing makes huge
For beauty, farv'd with her severity, [walte.
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me desfair;
She liath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be ruld 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 marks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ;
He that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight lost.
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pafs'd that pafling fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
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
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reck’ning are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds to long.
But now, my Lord, what say you to my suit ?

Сар.

1

Cap But saying o'er what I have faid before :
My child is yet a {tranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr’d are those fo early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but thes 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; If she 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, One more, most welcome, makes my number more, At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark even light. Such comfort as do lufty young men feel, When well-apparellid April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even fuch delight Among fresh female-buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all fee. And like her moit whose merit most shall be : Which on more view of many, mine, being one, May stand in number, though in reck'ning none. Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those perfons out, Whose names are written there ; and to them fay, 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, and the fisher 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 must to the learned.-In good time,

Enter