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Tow'rds him I made, but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are busied when they're moft alone,)
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing him,
And gladly shunnd, who gladly fled from me.

Moun. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the freth morning dew ;
But all so soon as the all-chearing fun
Should, in the farthest east, begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed ;
Away from light steals 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 counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?
Moun. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means !

Moun. Both by myself and many other friends ;
But he, his own affection's counsellor,
Is to himself (I will not say how true)
But to himself so secret and so close.
So far from founding and discovery ;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Ben. So please you, Sir, Mercutio and myself
Are most near to him ; be't that our years,
Statures, births, fortunes, ftudies, inclinations,
Measure the rule of his, I know not; but
Friendship still loves to fort him with his like.
We will attempt upon his privacy,
And could we learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as knowledge.

Moun. 'I'will bind us to you: good Benvolio, go,
Ben. We'll know his grievance, or be hard denied.

[Exeunt severally.

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Cap

. A

SC E N E III.

Before Capulet's House.

Enter Capulet and Paris.
ND Mountague 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 so long:
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before,
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of eighteen years ;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a wife.

Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made :
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but her.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her will,
Fortune to her consent is but a part ;
If she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent; so woo her gentle Paris.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a friend,
Such as I love, and you among the rest ;
One more most welcome! Come, go in with ine.

[Exeuar,

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Se

Mer. E E where he steals-Told I you not, Benvoliv,

That we should find this melancholy Cupid
Lock'd in some gloomy covert, under key
Of cautionary filence; with his arms
Threaded, like these cross boughs, in forrow's knot.

Enter

1.

Enter Romeo.
Ben. Good morrow, Cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But now ftruck nine.
Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long.
Mer. Prithee : what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ?
Rom. Not having that, which having makes them short,

Ben. In love, me seems!
Alas, that love so gentle to the view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Where shall we dine ?--O me-Cousin Benvolie,
What was the fray this morning with the Capulets?
Yet, tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love :
Love, heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-thapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
This love feel I ; but such my froward fate,
That there I love where most I ought to hate.
Dost thou not laugh, my cousin? Oh Juliet, Juliet!

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Mer. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love?
Rom. In sadness then, I love a woman.
Mer. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom. A right good marksman! and she's fair I love:
But knows not of my love, 'twas thro' my eyes
The shaft empierc'd my heart, chance gave the wound,
Which time can never heal: no ftar befriends me,
To each sad night succeeds a dismal morrow,
And still 'tis hopeless love, and endless sorrow.

Mer. Be ruld by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O teach me how I hould forget to think.

Mer. By giving liberty unto thine eyes :
Take thou some new infection to thy heart,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Examine other beauties.

Rom. He that is ftrucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight loft.
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair;
What doth her beauty serve but as a note,

Remembring

Remembring me, who past that passing fair ;
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.

Mer. I warrant thee. If thou'lt but stay to hear,
To night there is an ancient splendid feast
Kept by old Capulet, our enemy,
Where all the beauties of Verona meet.

Rom. At Capulet's !

Mer. At Capulet's, my friend,
Go there, and with an unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a raven.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falfhoods, then curn tears to fires ;
And burn the heretick. All-seeing Phæbus
Ne'er saw her match, since first his course began.

Ben. Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else being by Herself pois'd with herself ; but let be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other fair, And she will shew scant well.

Rom. I will along, Mercutio..

Mer. 'Tis well. Look to behold at this high feasts, Earth-treading stars, that make dim heaven's Lights. Hear all, all see, try all ; and like her most, That most shall merit thee.

Rom. My mind is chang'd
I will not go to night.

Mer. Why, may one ask ?
Rom. I dream'd a dream last night:

Mer. Ha! ha! a dream!
O then I see queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fancy's mid-wife, and she comes.
In Mape no bigger than an agat-stone
On the fore-finger of an Alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners legs ;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers ;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams ;
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner a small gray-coated gnát,
Not half to big as a round little worm,

Prick'

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Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers :
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers knees, that dream on curtsies straight :
O'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees :
O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Sometimes the gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a fuit :
And sometime: comes she with a tith-pig's tail,
Tickling the Parson as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that Mab

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace :
Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing, but vain phantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more unconftant than the wind.

Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves, And we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear too early : for my mind misgives
Some consequence, ftill hanging in the stars,
From this night's revels.- lead, gallant friends ;
Let come what may, once more I will behold,
My Juliet's eyes, drink deeper of affliction :
I'll watch the time, and mask'd from oblervation
Make known my sufferings, but conceal my name :
Tho' hate and discord 'twixt our fires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.

[Exeunt Mer. and Ben.

SCENE

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