Did from the ocean reigne unto the sea of Ynde.

Wherefore now let us wipe away old cares out of our mynde;
For, as the wretched state is now redrest at last,

So is it skill behind our backe the cursed care to cast.
Since Fortune of her grace hath place and time assinde,
Where we with pleasure may content our uncontented mynde,
In Lethes hyde we depe all greefe and all annoy,

Whilst we do bathe in blisse, and fill our hungry harts with joye.
And, for the time to comme, let be our busy care

So wisely to direct our love, as no wight els be ware;
Lest envious foes by force despoyle our new delight,

And us threw backe from happy state to more unhappy plight."
Fayre Juliet began to auns were what he sayde,

But foorth in hast the old nurce stept, and so her auns were stayde. Who takes no time (quoth she) when time well offred is,

An other time shall seeke for tyme, and yet of time shall misse.
And when occasion serves, who so doth let it slippe,

Is worthy sure, if I might judge, of lashes with a whippe.
Wherefore if eche of you hath harmde the other so,

And eche of you hath ben the cause of others wayled woe,
Lo here a field (she shewd a field-bed ready dight)

Where you may, if you list, in armes revenge yourself by fight.
Whereto these lovers both gan easely assent,

And to the place of mylde revenge with pleasant cheere they

went,

Where they were left alone-(the nurce is gone to rest)

How can this be? they restless lye, ne yet they feele unrest.

I graunt that I envie the blisse they lived in ;

O that I might have found the like! I wish it for no sin,

But that I might as well with pen their joyes depaynt,

As heretofore I have displayd their secret hidden playnt.

Of shyvering care and dred I have felt many a fit,

But Fortune such delight as theyrs dyd never graunt me yet. By proofe no certain truth can I unhappy write,

But what I gesse by likelihod, that dare I to endyte,

The blindfold goddesse that with frowning face doth fraye, And from theyr seate the mighty kinges throwes down with headlong sway,

Begynneth now to turne to these her smyling face;

Nedes must they tast of great delight, so much in Fortunes grace. If Cupid, god of love, be god of pleasant sport,

I think, O Romeus, Mars himselfe envies thy happy sort.

Ne Venus justly might (as I suppose) repent,

If in thy stead, O Juliet, this pleasant time she spent.

Thus passe they foorth the night, in sport, in joly game; The hastines of Phoebus steeds in great despyte they blame. And now the vyrgins fort hath warlike Romeus got,

In which as yet no breache was made by force of canon shot,
And now in ease he doth possesse the hoped place:

How glad was he, speake you, that may your lovers parts embrace.
The mariage thus made up, and both the parties pleasd,
The nigh approche of dayes retoorne these sely soles diseasd.

And for they might no while in pleasure passe theyr time,
Ne leysure had they much to blame the hasty mornings crime,
With friendly kisse in armes of her his leave he takes,
And every other night, to come, a solemn othe he makes,
By one selfe meane, and eke to come at one selfe howre:
And so he doth, till Fortune list to sawse his sweete with sowre.
But who is he that can his present state assure?

And say unto himselfe, thy joyes shall yet a day endure?
So wavering Fortunes whele, her chaunges be so straunge;
And every wight y-thralled is by Fate unto her chaunge :
Who raignes so over all, that eche man hath his part,
Although not aye, perchaunce, alike of pleasure and of smart.
For after many joves some feele but little paine,

And from that little greefe they toorne to happy joy againe.
But other some there are, that living long in woe,

At length they be in quiet ease, but long abide not so;

Whose greefe is much increast by myrth that went before,

Because the sodayne chaunge of thinges doth make it seeme the

more.

Of this unlucky sorte our Romeus is one,

For all his hap turnes to mishap, and all his myrth to mone.
And joyfull Juliet another leafe must toorne;

As woont she was, (her joyes bereft) she must begin to moorne.
The summer of their blisse doth last a month or twayne,
But winters blast with spedy foote doth bring the fall agayne.
Whom glorious Fortune erst had heaved to the skies,
By envious Fortune overthrowne, on earth now groveling lyes.
She payd theyr former greefe with pleasures doubled gayne,
But now, for pleasures usury, ten folde redoubleth payne.

The prince could never cause those housholds so agree,
But that some sparcles of theyr wrath as yet remayning bee;
Which lye this while raaked up in ashes pale and ded,
Till tyme do serve that they agayne in wasting flame may spred.
At holiest times, men say, most heynous crimes are donne;
The morrowe after Easter-day the mischiefe new begonne.
A band of Capilets dyd meet (my hart it rewes)

Within the walles, by Pursers gate, a band of Montagewes.
The Capilets as cheefe a yong man have chose out,
Best exercisd in feates of armes, and noblest of the rowte,
Our Juliets unkles sonne, that cleped was Tibalt;
He was of body tall and strong, and of his courage halt.
They neede no trumpet sounde to byd them geve the charge,
So lowde he cryde with strayned voyce and mouth out-stretched

large:

"Now, now, quoth he, my friends, our selfe so let us wreake, That of this dayes revenge and us our childrens heyres may speake. Now once for all let us their swelling pryde asswage;

Let none of them escape alive."-Then he with furious rage,
And they with him, gave charge upon theyr present foes,
And then forthwith a skirmish great upon this fray arose.
For loe the Montagewes thought shame away to flye,

And rather than to live with shame, with prayse did choose to dye.

The woords that Tybalt usd to styrre his folke to yre,
Have in the brestes of Montagewes kindled a furious fyre.
With lyons harts they fight, warely them selfe defend;

To wound his foe, his present wit and force eche one doth bend. This furious fray is long on eche side stoutly fought,

That whether part had got the woorst, full doutfull were the thought.

The noyse hereof anon throughout the towne doth flye,

And parts are taken on every side; both kindreds thether hye.
Here one doth graspe for breth, his frend bestrydeth him;
And he hath lost a hand, and he another maymed lym:

His leg is cutte whilst he strikes at another full,

And whom he would have thrust quite through, hath cleft his cracked skull.

Theyr valiant harts forbode theyr foote to geve the grounde; With unappauled cheere they tooke full deepe and doutful

wounde.

Thus foote by foote long while, and shylde to shylde set fast,
One foe doth make another faint, but makes him not agast.
And whilst this noyse is rife in every townesmans eare,

Eke, walking with his frendes, the noyse doth wofull Romeus heare.

With spedy foote he ronnes unto the fray apace;

With him, those fewe that were with him he leadeth to the place.
They pitie much to see the slaughter made so greate,

That wet shod they might stand in blood on eyther side the streate.
Part frendes, said he, part frendes, help, frendes, to part the fray,
And to the rest, enough, (he cryes) now time it is to staye.
Gods farther wrath you styrre, beside the hurt you feele,
And with this new uprore confounde all this our common wele.
But they so busy are in fight, so egar, fierce,

That through theyr eares his sage advise no leysure had to pearce.
Then lept he in the throng, to part and barre the blowes

As well of those that were his frends, as of his dedly foes.

As soon as Tybalt had our Romeus espyde,

He threw a thrust at him that would have past from side to side; But Romeus ever went, douting his foes, well armde,

So that the swerd, kept out by mayle, had nothing Romeus

harmde.

Thou doest me wrong, quoth he, for I but part the fraye;
Not dread, but other waighty cause my hasty hand doth stay.
Thou art the cheefe of thine, the noblest eke thou art,

Wherefore leave of thy malice now, and helpe these folke to part.
Many are hurt, some slayne, and some are like to dye :-

No, coward, traytor boy, quoth he, straight way I mind to trye, Whether thy sugred talke, and tong so smoothly fylde,

Against the force of this my swerd shall serve thee for a shylde. And then, at Romeus hed a blow he strake so hard

That might have clove him to the braine but for his cunning ward. It was but lent to hym that could repay againe,

And geve him deth for interest, a well-forborne gayne.

Right as a forest bore, that lodged in the thicke,

Pinched with dog, or els with speare y-pricked to the quicke, His bristles styffe upright upon his backe doth set,

And in his fomy mouth his sharp and crooked tuskes doth whet; Or as a lyon wilde, that raumpeth in his rage,

His whelps bereft, whose fury can no weaker beast asswage;—
Such seemed Romeus in every others sight,

When he him shope, of wrong receavde tavenge himselfe by fight.
Even as two thunderbolts throwne downe out of the skye,
That through the ayre, the massy earth, and seas, have powre to

flye;

So met these two, and whyle they chaunge a blow or twayne, Our Romeus thrust him through the throte, and so is Tybalt slayne.

Loe here the end of those that styrre a dedly stryfe!

Who thrysteth after others death, him selfe hath lost his lyfe.
The Capilets are quaylde by Tybalts overthrowe,

The courage of the Montagewes by Romeus fight doth growe.
The townesmen waxen strong, the Prince doth send his force;
The fray hath end. The Capilets do bring the bretheles corce
Before the prince, and crave that cruell dedly payne
May be the guerdon of his falt, that hath theyr kinsman slayne.
The Montagewes do pleade theyr Romeus voyde of falt;
The lookers on do say, the fight begonne was by Tybalt.
The prince doth pawse, and then geves sentence in a while,
That Romeus, for sleying him, should go into exyle.
His foes woulde have him hangde, or sterve in prison strong;
His frends do think, but dare not say, that Romeus hath wrong.
Both housholds straight are charged on payne of losing lyfe,
Theyr bloudy weapons layd aside, to cease the styrred stryfe.
This common plage is spred through all the towne anon,
Brom side to side the towne is fild with murmur and with mone.
For Tybalts hasty death bewayled was of somme,

Both for his skill in feates of armes, and for, in time to comme
He should, had this not chaunced, been riche and of great powre,
To helpe his frends, and serve the state; which hope within a

howre

Was wasted quite, and he, thus yelding up his breath,

More than he holpe the towne in lyfe, hath harmde it by his death And other somme bewayle, but ladies most of all,

The lookeles lot by Fortunes gylt that is so late befall,

Without his falt, unto the seely Romens;

For whilst that he from natife land shall live exyled thus

From heavenly bewties light and his well shaped parts,

The sight of which was wont, fayre dames, to glad your youthfull

harts,

Shall you be banishd quite, and tyll he do retoorne,

What hope have you to joy, what hope to cease to moorne?

This Romeus was borne so much in heavens grace,

Of Fortune and of Nature so beloved, that in his face (Beside the heavenly bewty glistring ay so bright,

And seemely grace that wonted so to glad the seers sight)

A certain charme was graved by Natures secret arte,
That vertue had to draw to it the love of many a hart.
So every one doth wish to beare a part of payne,

That he released of exyle might straight retoorne againe.
But how doth moorne emong the moorners Juliet!

How doth she bathe her brest in teares! what depe sighes doth

she fet!

How doth she tear her heare! her weede how doth she rent!
How fares the lover hearing of her lovers banishment!
How wayles she Tybalts death, whom she had loved so well!
Her hearty greefe and piteous plaint, cunning I want to tell.
For delving depely now in depth of depe despayre,
With wretched sorrows cruell sound she fils the empty ayre:
And to the lowest hell downe falls her heavy crye,

And up unto the heavens haight her piteous plaint doth flye.
The waters and the woods of sighes and sobs resounde,

And from the hard resounding rockes her sorrowes do rebounde.
Eke from her teary eyne downe rayned many a showre,

That in the garden where she walkd might water herbe and flowre.

But when at length she saw her selfe outraged so,

Unto her chaumber there she hide; there, overcharged with woe,
Upon her stately bed her painfull parts she threw,

And in so wondrous wise began her sorrowes to renewe,
That sure no hart so hard (but it of flynt had byn,)

But would have rude the piteous playnt that she did languishe in.
Then rapt out of her selfe, whilst she on every side

Did cast her restles eye, at length the windowe she espide, Through which she had with joye seene Romeus many a time, Which oft the ventrous knight was wont for Juliets sake to clyme. She cryde, O cursed windowe! acurst be every pane,

Through which, alas! to sone I raught the cause of life and bane, If by thy meane I have some slight delight receaved,

Or els such fading pleasure as by Fortune straight was reaved,
Hast thou not made me pay a tribute rigorous

Of heaped greefe and lasting care, and sorrowes dolorous?
That these my tender parts, which nedeful strength do lacke
To bear so great unweldy lode upon so weake a backe,
Opprest with waight of cares and with these sorrowes rife,
At length must open wide to death the gates of lothed lyfe;
That so my wery sprite may somme where els unlode

His deadly loade, and free from thrall may seeke els where abode;
For pleasant quiet ease and for assured rest,

Which I as yet could never finde but for my more unrest?

O Romeus, when first we both acquainted were,

When to thy painted promises I lent my listning eare,

Which to the brinkes you fild with many a solemne othe,

And I then judgde empty of gyle, and fraughted full of troth,

I thought you rather would continue our good will,

And seeke tappease our fathers strife, which daily groweth still. I little wend you would have sought occasion how

By such an beynous act to breake the peace and eke your vowe;