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you blew ?
What, shall I be the first? hath none done so ere this,
“ Ah Juliet, (quoth he) the mistres of my hart,
wife, Thou banish from thy mynde two foes that counsell hath, (That wont to hinder sound advise) rashe hastines and wrath ; If thou be bent tobay the love of reasons skill, And wisely by her princely powre suppresse rebelling will, If thou our safetie seeke, more then thine own delight, (Since suretie standes in parting, and thy pleasures growe of
And thinke thou not, that aye the cause of care shall last;
smart. For of this one thyng thou mayst well assured bee, That nothing els but onely death shall sunder me froin thee." The reasons that he made did seeme of so great waight, And had with her such force, that she to him gan aunswere
straight : “ Deere Syr, nought els wish I but to obey your will ; But sure where so you go, your hart with me shall tarry still, As signe and certaine pledge, tyll here I shall you see, Of all the powre that over you yourselfe did graunt to me; And in his stead take myne, the gage of my good will.One promesse crave I at your hand, that graunt me to fulfill ; Fayle not to let me have, at fryer Lawrence hand, The tydinges of your health, and howe your doutfull case shall
stand. And all the wery whyle that you shall spend abrode, Cause me from time to time to know the place of your abode." His eyes did gush out teares, a sigh brake from his brest, When he did graunt and with an othe did vowe to kepe the hest.
Thus these two lovers passe awaye the wery night, In payne and plaint, not, as they wont, in pleasure and delight. But now, somewhat too soone, in farthest east arose Fayre Lucifer, the golden starre that lady Venus chose; Whose course appoynted is with spedy race to ronne, A messenger of dawning daye, and of the rysing sonne. Then fresh Aurora with her pale and silver glade Did cleare the skies, and from the earth had chased ougly shade.
When thou ne lookest wide, ne closely dost thou winke,
shake. Then carefull Romeus agayne to cell retoornes, And in her chaumber secretly our joyles Juliet moornes. Now hugy cloudes of care, of sorrow, and of dread, The clearnes of theyr gladsome harts hath wholy overspread. When golden-crested Phæbus bosteth him in skye, And under earth, to scape revenge, his dedly foe doth flye, Then hath these lovers day an ende, theyr night begonne, For eche of them to other is as to the world the sonne. The dawning they shall see, ne sommer any more, But black-faced night with winter rough ah ! beaten over sore.
The wery watch discharged did hye them home to slepe, The warders, and the skowtes were charged theyr place and
course to kepe,
Against the restles starres in rolling skies that raunge,
joye? But if with heavy cheere they shew their inward greefe, He wayleth most his wrechedness that is of wretches cheefe. When he doth heare abrode the prayse of ladies blowne, Within his thought he scorneth them, and doth prefer his owne. When pleasant songes he heares, wheile others do rejoyce, The melodye of musicke doth styrre up his mourning voyce. But if in secret place he walke some where alone, The place itselfe and secretnes redoubleth all his mone. Then speakes he to the beastes, to feathered fowles and trees, Unto the earth, the cloudes, and what so beside he sees. To them he shewth his smart, as though they reason had, Eche thing may cause his heavines, but nought may make him
glad. And wery of the world agayne he calleth night, The sunne he curseth, and the howre when first his eyes saw light. And as the night and day theyr course do interchaunge, So doth our Romeus nightly cares for cares of day exchaunge.
In absence of her knight the lady no way could Kepe trewce betweene her greefes and her, though nere so fayne
she would ; And though with greater payne she cloked sorowes smart, Yet did her paled face disclose the passions of her hart. Her sighing every howre, her weeping every where, Her recheles heede of meate, of slepe, and wearing of her geare, The carefull mother marks; then of her helth afrayde, Because the greefes increased still, thus to her child she sayde : “ Deere daughter if you shoulde long languishe in this sort, I stand in doute that over-soone your sorrowes will make short Your loving father's life and myne, that love you more Than our owne propre breth and lyfe. Brydel henceforth there
fore Your greefe and payne, yourselfe on joy your thought to set, For time it is that now you should our Tybalts death forget.
Of whom since God hath claymd the life that was but lent,
Madame, the last of Tybalts teares a great while since I shed; Whose spring hath been ere this so laded out by me, That empty quite and moystureless I gesse it now to be. So that my payned hart by conduytes of the eyne No more henceforth (as wont it was) shall gush forth dropping
bryne." The wofull mother knew not what her daughter ment, And loth to vexe her chylde by woordes, her pace she warely hent. But when from howre to houre, from morow to the morow, Still more and more she saw increast her daughters wonted sor
row, All meanes she sought of her and houshold folk to know The certain roote whereon her greefe and booteless mone doth
growe. But lo, she hath in vayne her time and labour lore, Wherefore without all measure is her hart tormented sore. And sith herselfe could not fynde out the cause of care, She thought it good to tell the syre how ill this childe did fare. And when she saw her time, thus to her feere she sayde : Syr, if you mark our daughter well, the countenance of the
mayde, And how she fareth since that Tybalt unto death Before his time, forst by his foe, did yeld his living breath, Her face shall seeme so chaunged, her doynges eke so straunge, That you will greatly wonder at so great and sodain chaunge. Not only she forbeares her meate, her drinke, and sleepe, But now she tendeth nothing els but to lament and weepe. No greater joy hath she, nothing contents her hart So much, as in the chaumber close to shut herselfe apart : Where she doth so torment her poore afflicted mynde, That much in daunger stands her lyfe, except some help she
finde. But, out alas ! I see not how it may be founde, Unlesse that fyrst we might fynd whence her sorowes thus