Tow'rds him I made, but he was 'ware of me,
And ftole into the covert of the wood.
I measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are bufied when they're moft alone,)
Purfu'd my humour, not pursuing him,
And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled from me.
Moun. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the freth morning dew;
But all fo foon as the all-chearing fun
Should, in the fartheft east, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals 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 counfel may the caufe 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 fay how true)
But to himself fo fecret and so close.
So far from founding and discovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can fpread his fweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Ben. So please you, Sir, Mercutio and myself
Are moft near to him; be't that our years,
Statures, births, fortunes, ftudies, inclinations,
Measure the rule of his, I know not; but
Friendship ftill 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. 'Twill bind us to you: good Benvolio, go.
Ben. We'll know his grievance, or be hard denied.

[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE

Cap.

S CE NE

Before Capulet's Houfe.

Enter Capulet and Paris.

III.

ND Mountague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds fo long:
But now, my lord, what fay you to my fuit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before,
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of eighteen years;
Let two more fummers 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 foon marr'd are those so early made:
The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but her.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her will,
Fortune to her confent is but a part;
If the agree, within her fcope of choice.
Lies my confent; fo woo her gentle Paris.
This night I hold an old accuftom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a friend,
Such as I love, and you among the reft;
One more most welcome! Come, go in with me.

[Exeunt.

S

CEN E

IV.

Mer. S

A Wood near Verona.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

EE where he steals-Told I you not, Benvolio,
That we should find this melancholy Cupid

Lock'd in fome gloomy covert, under key

Of cautionary filence; with his arms

Threaded, like thefe crofs boughs, in forrow's knot.

Enter

Enter Romeo,

Ben. Good morrow, Coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But now ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me! fad hours feem long.

Mer. Prithee what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom. Not having that, which having makes them short.
Ben. In love, me feems!

Alas, that love fo gentle to the view,

Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Where fhall we dine ?-O me -Coufin 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 lightnefs! ferious vanity!
Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

This love feel I; but fuch my froward fate,
That there I love where most I ought to hate.
Doft thou not laugh, my coufin? Oh Juliet, Juliet &
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.
Mer. Tell me in fadness, who she is

you

Rom. In fadness then, I love a woman.

love?

Mer. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good markfman! and she's fair I love:
But knows not of my love, 'twas thro' my eyes
The fhaft empierc'd my heart, chance gave the wound,
Which time can never heal: no ftar befriends me,
To each fad night fucceeds a difmal morrow,
And till 'tis hopeless love, and endless forrow.
Mer. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O teach me how I fhould forget to think.
Mer. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Take thou fome 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-fight loft.
Shew me a mistress that is paffing fair;
What doth her beauty ferve but as a note,

Remembring

ل

Remembring me, who paft that paffing fair;
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.

Mer. I warrant thee. If thou'lt but ftay to hear,
To night there is an ancient fplendid 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 fhall fhow,
And I will make thee think thy swan a raven.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfhoods, then turn tears to fires;
And burn the hereticks. All-feeing Phoebus
Ne'er faw her match, fince first his courfe began.
Ben. Tut, tut, you faw her fair, none else being by
Herfelf pois'd with herfelf; but let be weigh'd
Your lady's love against fome other fair,
And the will fhew fcant well.

Rom. I will along, Mercutio.

Mer. 'Tis well. Look to behold at this high feaft, Earth-treading ftars, that make dim heaven's lights. Hear all, all fee, try all; and like her moft, That moft fhall 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 fee queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fancy's mid-wife, and the comes
In fhape no bigger than an agat-ftone
On the fore-finger of an Alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens nofes as they lie asleep:

Her waggon fpokes made of long spinners legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers;
The traces, of the fmalleft fpider'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 fo big as a round little worm,

Prick'

Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner fquirrel, 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 curtfies ftraight :
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftraight dream on fees:
O'er ladies lips, who ftraight on kiffes dream,
Sometimes the gallops o'er a lawyer's nofe,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit:
And sometimes comes fhe with a tith-pig's tail,
Tickling the Parson as he lies afleèp;
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, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps 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 phantafy, Which is as thin of fubftance as the air, And more unconstant than the wind.

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

Rom. I fear too early: for my mind mifgives
Some confequence, ftill hanging in the ftars,
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 obfervation
Make known my fufferings, but conceal my name:
Tho' hate and difcord 'twixt our fires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.

[Exeunt Mer. and Ben.

SCENE