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Whereby your bright renoune all whole yclipsed is,
thrall? But that you must increase it with that kinsmans blood, Which for his woorth and love to me, most in my favour stood ? Well, goe hencefoorth els where, and seeke an other whyle Some other as unhappy as 1, by flattery to begyle. And, where I comme, see that you shonne to shew your face, For your excuse within my hart shall finde no resting place. And I that now, too late, my former fault repent, Will so the rest of wery life with many teares lament, That soon my joyceles corps shall yeld up banishd breath, And where on earth it restles lived, in earth seeke rest by death.
These sayd, her tender hart, by payne oppressed sore, Restraynd her tears, and forced her tong to kepe her talke in
store; And then as still she was, as if in sownd she lay, And then againe, wroth with berselfe, with feble voyce gan say:
“ Ah cruell murdering tong, murdrer of others fame, How durst thou once attempt to tooch the honor of his name? Whose dedly foes do yeld him dew and erned prayse; For though his freedom be bereft, his honour not decayes. Why blamst thou Romeus for slaying of Tybalt, Since he is gyltles quite of all, and Tibalt beares the falt? Whether shall he, alas! poore banishd man, now flye? What place of succour shall he seeke beneth the starry skye? Since she pursueth hym, and him defames by wrong, That in distres should be his fort, and onely rampier strong. Receve the recompence, O Romeus, of thy wife, Who, for she was unkind her selfe, doth offer up her life, In flames of yre, in sighes, in sorow and in ruth, So to revenge the crime she did commit against thy truth." These said, she could no more; her senses all gan fayle, And dedly panges began straightway her tender hart assayle ; Her limmes she stretched forth, she drew no more her breath : Who had been there might well have seen the signes of present
death. The nurce that knew no cause why she absented her, Did doute lest that somme sodayn greefe too much tormented ber. Eche where but where she was, the carefull beldam sought, Last, of the chamber where she lay she happly her bethought; Where she with piteous eye her nurce-child did beholde, Her limmes stretched out, her utward parts as any marble colde:
The nurce supposde that she had payde to death her det,
spyes. But when she was awakde from her unkindly traunce, “ Why dost thou trouble me, quoth she, what drave thee, with
mischaunce, To come to see my sprite forsake my bretheles corse? Go hence, and let me dye, if thou have on my smart remorse. For who would see her frend to live in dedly payne? Alas! I see my greefe begonne for ever will remayne. Or who would seeke to live, all pleasure being past? My myrth is donne, my moorning mone for ay is like to last. Wherefore since that there is none other remedy, Comme gentle death, and ryve my heart at once, and let me dye.” The nurce with trickling teares, to witnes inward smart, With holow sigh fetchd from the depth of her appauled hart, Thus spake to Juliet, y-clad with ougly care: “Good lady myne, I do not know what makes you thus to fare; Ne yet the cause of your unmeasurde heaviness. But of this one I you assure, for care and sorowes stresse, This hower large and more I thought, so God me save, That my dead corps should wayte on yours to your untimely
grave.” « Alas, my tender nurce, and trusty frende, (quoth she) Art thou so blinde that with thine eye thou canst not easely see The lawfull cause I have to sorow and to moorne, Since those the which I hyld most deere, I have at once forlorne.” Her nurce then aunswered thus—" Methinkes it fits you yll To fall in these estremities that you may gyltles spill. or when the stormes of care and troubles do aryse, Then is the time for men to know the foolish from the wise. You are accounted wise, a foole am I your nurce; But I see not how in like case I could behave me wurse. Tybalt your frend is ded; what, weene you by your teares ro call him backe againe ? thinke vou that he your crying heares ? You shall perceive the falt, if it be justlv tryde, Of his so sodayn death was in his rashnes and his pryde. Would you that Romeus him selfe had wronged so, To suffer him selfe causeles to be outraged of his foe,
To whom in no respect he ought a place to geve?
Her mistres sendes her forth, and makes a grave behest
brest. When hugy heapes of harmes are heaped before her eyes, Then vanish they by hope of scape; and thus the lady lyes Twixt well-assured trust, and doutfull lewd dyspayre: Now blacke and only be her thoughts; now seeme they white
and fayre. As oft in summer tide blacke cloudes do dimme the sonne, And straiglit againe in clearest skye his restles steedes do ronne ; So Juliets wandring mind y-clouded is with woe, And by and by her hasty thought the woes doth overgoe.
But now is tyme to tell, whilst she was tossed thus, What windes did drive or haven did hold her lover Romeus. When he had slayne his foe that gan this dedly strife, And saw the furious fray had ende by ending Tybalts life, He fled the sharpe revenge of those that yet did live, And douting much what penal doome the troubled prince might
gyve, He sought somewhere unseene to lurke a littel space, And trusty Lawrence secret cell he thought the surest place.
In doutfull happe aye best a trusty frend is tryde;
By this unto his cell the nurce with spedy pace
These heavy tidinges heard, his golden lockes he tare,
But lo! he was so weake by reason of his age,
forth too long He wished that he had before his time been borne, Or that as soone as he wan light, bis ly fe he had forlorne. His nurce he cursed, and the hand that gave him pappe, The midwife eke with tender grype that held him in her lappe ; And then did he complaine on Venus cruell sonne, Who led him first unto the rockes which he should warely shonne: By meane whereof he lost both lyfe and libertie, And dyed a hundred times a day, and yet could never dye. Loves troubles lasten long, the joyes he gives are short; He forceth not a lovers payne, theyr ernest is his sport. A thousand thinges and more I here let passe to write Which unto love this wofull man did speake in great despite. On Fortune eke he raylde, he calde her deafe, and blynde, Unconstant, fond, deceitfull, rashe, unruthfull, and unkynd. And to himselfe he layd a great part of the falt, For that he slewe and was not slaine, in fighting with Tibalt. He blamed all the world, and all he did defve, But Juliet for whom he lived, for whom eke would he dye. When after raging fits appeased was his rage, And when his passions, poured forth, gan partly to asswage, So wisely did the fryre unto his tale replve, That he straight cared for his life, thai erst had care to dye. “ Art thou (quoth he) a man? thy shape saith, so thou art; Thy crying, and thy weeping eyes denote a womans hart. For manly reason is quite from of thy mynd out-chased, And in her stead affections lewd and fancies highly placed : So that I stoode in doute, this howre at the least, If thou a man or woman wert, or els a brutish beast. A wise man in the midst of troubles and distres Still standes not wayling present harme, but seekes his harmes