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For, if she fayle in ought, the matter published,
Both she and Romeus were undonne, him selfe eke punished.
When too and fro in mynde he dyvers thoughts had cast,
With tender pity and with ruth his hart was wonne at last;
He thought he rather would in hazard set his fame,
Then suffer such adultery. Resolving on the same,
Out of his closet straight he tooke a little glasse,
And then with double hast retornde where woful Juliet was ;
Whom he hath found wel nigh in traunce, scarce drawing breath,
Attending still to heare the newes of lyfe or els of death.
Of whom he did enquire of the appoynted day;.
“ 'On Wensday next, (quoth Juliet) so doth my father say,
I must geve my consent; but, as I do remember,
The solemne day of mariage is the tenth day of September."
“ Deere daughter, (quoth the fryer) of good cheere see thou be,
For loe! sainct Frauncis of his grace hath shewde a way to me,
By which I may both thee and Romeus together,
Out of the bondage which you feare, assuredly deliver.
Even from the holy font thy husband have I knowne,
And, since he grew in yeres, have kept his counsels as myne owne.
For from his youth he would unfold to me his hart,
And often have I cured him of anguish and of smart :
I knowe that by desert his frendship I have wonne,
And him do holde as deere, as if he were my propre sonne.
Wherefore my frendly hart can not abyde that he
Should wrongfully in oughte be harmde, if that it lay in me
To right or to revenge the wrong by my advise,
Or timely to prevent the same in any other wise.
And sith thou art his wyfe, thee am I bound to love,
For Romeus friendship sake, and seeke thy anguish to remove,
And dredful torments, which thy hart besegen rounde;
Wherefore, my daughter, geve good care unto my counsels sounde.
Forget not what I say, ne tell it any wight,
Not to the nurce thou trustest so, as Romeus is thy knight.
For on this threed doth hang thy death and eke thy life,
My fame or shame, his weale or woe that chose thee to his wyfe.
Thou art not ignorant, because of such renowne
As every where is spred of me, but chefely in this towne,
That in my youthfull dayes abrode I travayled,
Through every lande found out by men, by men inhabited;
So twenty yeres from home, in landes unknowne a gest,
I never gave my weary limmes long time of quiet rest,
But, in the desert woodes, to beastes of cruell kinde,
Or on the seas to drenching waves, at pleasure of the winde,
I have committed them, to ruth of rovers hand,
And to a thousand daungers more, by water and by lande.
But not, in vayne, my childe, hath all my wandring byn;
Beside the great contentednes my sprete abydeth in,

That by the pleasant thought of passed thinges doth grow,
One private frute more have I pluckd, which thou shalt shortly

know:
What force the stones, the plants, and metals have to worke,
And divers other thinges that in the bowels of earth do loorke,
With care I have sought out, with payne I did them prove;
With them eke can I helpe my selfe at times of my behove,
(Although the science be against the lawes of men)
When sodayn daunger forceth me; but yet most cheefly when
The worke to doe is least displeasing unto God
(Not helping to do any sin that wrekefull Jove forbode.)
For since in lyfe no hope of long abode I have,
But now am comme unto the brinke of my appoynted grave,
And that my death drawes nere, whose stripe I may not shonne,
But shall be calde to make account of all that I have donne,
Now ought I from henceforth more depely print in mynde
The judgment of the Lord, then when youthes folly made me

blynde, When love and fond desyre were boyling in my brest, Whence hope and dred by striving thoughts had banishd frendly

rest. Know therefore, daughter, that with other gyftes which I Have well attained to, by grace and favour of the skye, Long since I did finde out, and yet the waye I knowe, Of certain rootes and savory herbes to make a kynd of dowe.. Which baked hard, and bet into a powder fyne, And dranke with conduite water, or with any kynd of wine, It doth in half an howre astone the taker so, And mastreth all his sences, that he feeleth weale nor woe: And so it burieth up the sprite and living breath, That even the skilful leche would say, that he is slayne by death. One vertue more it hath, as mervelous as this ; The taker, by receiving it, at all not greeved is; But paineless as a man that thinketh nought at all, Into a sweete and quiet slepe immediately doth fall; From which, according to the quantitie he taketh, Longer or shorter is the time before the sleper waketh : And thence (theffect once wrought) againe it doth restore Him that receaved unto the state wherein he was before. Wherefore, marke well the ende of this my tale begonne, And thereby learne what is by thee hereafter to be donne. Cast off from thee at once the weede of womannish dread, With manly courage arme thyselfe from heele unto the head; For onely on the feare or boldnes of thy brest The happy happe or yll mishappe of thy affayre doth rest. Receve this vyoll small and kepe it as thine eye; And on the marriage day, before the sunne doe cleare the skye,

Fill it with water full up to the very brim,
Then drink it of, and thou shalt feele throughout eche vayne and

lym
A pleasant slumber slyde, and quite dispred at length
On all thy partes, from every part reve all thy kindly strength;
Withouten moving thus thy ydle partes shall rest,
No pulse shall goe, ne hart once beate within thy hollow brest,
But thou shalt lye as she that dyeth in a traunce :
Thy kinsmen and thy trusty frendes shall wayle the sodayne

chaunce ; The corps then will they bring to grave in this churcheyarde, Where thy forefathers long agoe a costly tombe preparde, Both for them selfe and eke for those that should come after, (Both depe it is, and long and large) where thou shalt rest, my

daughter, Till I to Mantua sende for Romeus, thy knight; Out of the tombe both he and I will take thee forth that night. And when out of thy slepe thou shalt awake agayne, Then may'st thou goe with him from hence; and, healed of thy

payne, In Mantua lead with him unknowne a pleasant lyfe; And yet perhaps in tyme to comme, when cease shall all the stryfe, And that the peace is made twixt Romeus and his foes, My selfe may finde so fit a time these secretes to disclose, Both to my prayse, and to thy tender parentes joy, That dangerles, without reproche, thou shalt thy love enjoy."

When of his skilfull tale the fryer had made an ende,
To which our Juliet so well her care and wits did bend,
That she hath heard it all and hath forgotten nought,
Her fainting hart was comforted with hope and pleasant thought,
And then to him she sayd “ Doubt not but that I will
With stout and unapauled hart your happy hest fulfill. '
Yea, if I wist it were a venemous dedly drinke,
Rather would I that through my throte the certaine bane should

sinke,
Then I, not drinking it, into his handes should fall,
That hath no part of me as yet, ne ought to have at all.
Much more I ought with bold and with a willing hart
To greatest daunger yeld my selfe, and to the dedly smart,
To come to him on whom my life doth wholly stay,
That is my onely harts delight, and so he shall be aye.”
Then goe, quoth he, my childe, I pray that God on hye
Direct thy foote, and by thy hand upon the way thee gye.
God graunt he so confirme in thee thy present will, -
That no inconstant toy thee let thy promise to fulfill."

A thousand thankes and more our Juliet gave the frier,
And homeward to her fathers house joyfull she doth retyre ;

And as with stately gate she passed through the streate,
She saw her mother in the doore, that with her there would

meete,
In mynde to aske if she her purpose yet dyd holde,
In mynde also, apart twixt them, her duety to have tolde ;
Wherefore with pleasant face, and with her wonted chere,
As soone as she was unto her approched somewhat nere,
Before the mother spake, thus did she fyrst begin :
“ Madame, at sainct Frauncis churche have I this morning byn,
Where I did make abode a longer while, percase,
Then dewty would ; yet have I not been absent from this place
So long a while, without a great and just cause why;
This frute have I receaved there ;-my hart, erst lyke to dye,
Is now revived agayne, and my afflicted brest,
Released from affliction, restored is to rest !
For lo! my troubled gost, alas too sore diseasde
By gostly counsell and advise hath fryer Lawrence easde;
To whom I dyd at large discourse my former lyfe,
And in confession did I tell of all our passed stryfe :
Of Counte Paris sute, and how my lord, my syre,
By my ungrate and stubborne stryfe I styrred unto yre;
But lo, the holy fryer hath by his gostly lore
Made me another woman now than I had been before.
By strength of argumentes he charged so my mynde,
That, though I sought no sure defence my searching thought

could find. So forced I was at length to yield up witles will, And promist to be ordered by the fryers praysed skill. Wherefore, albeit I had rashely, long before, The bed and rytes of mariage for many yeres forswore, Yet mother, now behold your daughter at your will, Ready, if you commaunde her aught, your pleasure to fulfill. Wherefore in humble wise, dere madam, I you pray, To go unto my lord and syre, withouten long delay; Of hym fyrst pardon crave of faultes already past, And shew him, if it pleaseth you, his child is now at last Obedient to his just and to his skilfull hest, And that I will, God lending lyfe, on Wensday next, be prest To wayte on him and you, unto thappoynted place, Where I will, in your hearing, and before my fathers face, Unto the Counte geve my fayth and whole assent, And take him for my lord and spouse ; thus fully am I bent; And that out of your mynde I may remove all doute, Unto my closet fare I now, to searche and to choose out The bravest garmentes and the richest jewels there, Which, better him to please, I mynde on Wensday next to weare; For if I did excell the famous Gretian rape, Yet might attyre helpe to amende my bewty and my shape.”

VOL, VI.

The simple mother was rapt into great delight;
Not halfe a word could she bring forth, but in this joyfull plight
With nimble foote she ran, and with unwonted pace,
Unto her pensive husband, and to him with pleasant face
She tolde what she had heard, and prayseth much the fryer ;
And joyfull teares ranne downe the cheekes of this gray-berded

syer.
With hands and eyes heaved-up he thankes God in his hart,
And then he sayth : “ This is not, wyfe, the fryers first desart;
Oft hath he showde to us great frendship heretofore,
By helping us at nedefull times with wisdomes pretious lore.
In all our common weale scarce one is to be founde
But is, for somme good torne, unto this holy father bounde.
Oh that the thyrd part of my goodes (I doe not fayne)
But twenty of his passed yeres might purchase him agayne!
So much in recompence of frendship would I geve,
So much, in fayth, his extreme age my frendly hart doth greeve.”

These said, the glad old man from home goeth straight abrode, And to the stately palace hyeth where Paris made abode; Whom he desyres to be on Wensday next his geast, At Freetowne, where he myndes to make for him a costly feast. But loe, the earle saith, such feasting were but lost, And counsels him till mariage time to spare so great a cost. For then he knoweth well the charges will be great ; The whilst, his hart desyreth still her sight, and not his meate. He craves of Capilet that he may straight goe see Fayre Juliet ; wherto he doth right willingly agree. The mother, warnde before, her daughter doth prepare ; She warneth and she chargeth her that in no wyse she spare Her courteous speche, her pleasant lookes, and commely grace, But liberally to geve them foorth when Paris commes in place : Which she as cunningly could set forth to the shew, As cunning craftsman to the sale do set theyr wares on rew;' That ere the County dyd out of her sight depart, So secretly unwares to him she stale away his hart, That of his lyfe and death the wily wench hath powre ; And now his longing hart thinkes long for theyr appoynted howre And with importune sute the parents doth he pray The wedlocke knot to knit soone up, and hast the mariage day.

The woer hath past forth the fyrst day in this sort, And many other more then this, in pleasure and disport. At length the wished time of long hoped delight (As Paris thought) drew nere; but nere approched heavy

plight. Agaynst the bridall day the parentes did prepare Such rich attyre, such furniture, such store of dainty fare, That they which did behold the same the night before, Did thinke and say, a man could scarcely wish for any more.

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