What, shall I be the first? hath none done so ere this,

To scape the bondage of theyr frends? thyselfe can aunswer, yes. Or dost thou stand in doute that I thy wife ne can

By service pleasure thee as much, as may thy hyred man?

Or is my loyalte of both accompted lesse ?

Perhaps thou fearst lesse I for gayne forsake three in distresse.
What! hath my bewty now no powre at all on you,

Whose brightnes, force, and prayse, sometime up to the skyes you blew ?

My teares, my friendship and my pleasures donne of olde,
Shall they be quite forgote in dede?"-When Romeus dyd behold
The wildnes of her looke, her cooller pale and ded,

The woorst of all that might betyde to her, he gan to dred;
And once agayne he dyd in armes his Juliet take,

And kist her with a loving kysse, and thus to her he spake :
"Ah Juliet, (quoth he) the mistres of my hart,

For whom, even now, thy servant doth abyde in dedly smart,
Even for the happy dayes which thou desyrest to see,

And for the fervent frendships sake that thou dost owe to mee,
At once these fansies vayne out of thy mynd roote out,
Except, perhaps, unto thy blame, thou fondly go about
To hasten forth my death, and to thine owne to ronne,
Which Natures law and wisdoms lore teach every wight to shonne.
For, but thou change thy mynde, (I do foretell the end)
Thou shalt undoo thyselfe for aye, and me thy trusty frend.
For why?-thy absence knowne, thy father will be wroth,
And in his rage no narowly he will pursue us both,
That we shall trye in vayne to scape away by flight,

And vainely seeke a loorking place to hyde us from his sight.
Then we, found out and caught, quite voyde of strong defence,
Shall cruelly be punished for thy departure hence;

I as a ravisher, thou as a careles childe,

I as a man that doth defile, thou as a mayde defilde;
Thinking to lead in ease a long contented life,

Shall short our dayes by shamefull death:-but if, my loving

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 sight,)

Forbeare the cause of joy, and suffer for a while,

So shall I safely live abrode, and safe torne from exile:

So shall no slanders blot thy spotles life distayne,

So shall thy kinsmen be unstyrd, and I exempt from payne.

And thinke thou not, that aye the cause of care shall last;
These stormy broyles shall over-blowe, much like a winters blast.
For Fortune chaungeth more than fickel fantasie;

In nothing Fortune constant is save in unconstancie.
Her hasty ronning wheele is of a restless coorse,

That turnes the clymers hedlong downe, from better to the

woorse,

And those that are beneth she heaveth up agayne:

So we shall rise to pleasures mount, out of the pit of payne.
Ere foure monthes overpasse, such order will I take,

And by my letters and my frendes such meanes I mynd to make,
That of my wandring race ended shall be the toyle,

And I cald home with honor great unto my native soyle.
But if I be condemned to wander still in thrall,

I will returne to you, mine owne, befall what may befall,
And then by strength of frendes, and with a mighty hand,
From Verone will I carry thee into a foreign lande;
Not in mans weede disguysd, or as one scarcely knowne,
But as my wife and only feere, in garment of thyne owne.
Wherefore represse at once the passions of thy hart,

And where there is no cause of greefe, cause hope to heale thy

smart.

For of this one thyng thou mayst well assured bee,

That nothing els but onely death shall sunder me from 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,

When Phoebus from our hemisphere in westerne wave doth

sinke,

What cooller then the heavens do shew unto thine eyes,
The same, or like, saw Romeus in farthest easterne skies.
As yet he sawe no day, ne could he call it night,

With equall force decreasing darke fought with increasing light.
Then Romeus in armes his lady gan to folde,

With frendly kisse, and ruthfully she gan her knight beholde. With solemne othe they both theyr sorowfull leave do take; They sweare no stormy troubles shall theyr steady friendship 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 Phoebus 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,

And Verone gates awide the porters had set open.

When Romeus had of hys affayres with fryer Lawrence spoken,
Warely he walked forth, unknowne of frend or foe,

Clad like a merchant venterer, from top even to the toe.
He spurd apace, and came, withouten stoppe or stay,

To Mantua gates, where lighted downe, he sent his man away
With woordes of comfort to his old afflicted syre;

And straight, in mynde to sojourne there, a lodging doth he hyre, And with the nobler sort he doth himselfe acquaynt,

And of his open wrong receaved the duke doth heare his

playnt.

He practiseth by frends for pardon of exile ;

The whilst, he seeketh every way his sorrowes to begyle.
But who forgets the cole that burneth in his brest?
Alas! his cares denye his hart the sweete desyred rest;
No time findes he of myrth, he fyndes no place of joy,
But every thing occasion gives of sorrowe and annoye.
For when in toorning skies the heavens lamps are light,
And from the other hemisphere fayr Phoebus chaseth night,
When every man and beast hath rest from paynefull toyle,
Then in the brest of Romeus his passions gin to boyle.
Then doth he wet with teares the cowche whereon he lyes,
And then his sighs the chaumber fill, and out aloude he cries

Against the restles starres in rolling skies that raunge,
Against the fatall sisters three, and Fortune full of chaunge.
Eche night a thousand times he calleth for the day,
He thinketh Titans restles steedes of restines do stay;
Or that at length they have some bayting place found out,
Or, gyded yll, have lost theyr way and wandered farre about.
While thus in ydell thoughts the wery time he spendeth,

The night hath end, but not with night the plaint of night he endeth.

Is he accompanied? is he in place alone?

In cumpany he wayles his harme, apart he maketh mone:

For if his feeres rejoyce, what cause hath he to joy,

That wanteth still his cheefe delight, while they theyr loves enjoye?

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 Ient,
He is in blisse, ne is there cause why you should thus lament;
You cannot call him backe with teares and shrikinges shrill :
It is a falt thus still to grudge at Gods appoynted will."
The seely soule hath now no longer powre to fayne,

No longer could she hide her harme, but answered thus

agayne,

With heavy broken sighes, with visage pale and ded:

"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:

66

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

abounde.

For though with busy care I have employde my wit,

And used all the wayes I have to learne the truth of it,
Neither extremitie ne gentle meanes could boote;

She hydeth close within her brest her secret sorowes roote.