Ben. Tell me in sadness, who fhe is you love?
Rom. What, fhall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no;
But fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in sadness make his will:O word ill urg'd to one that is fo ill
In fadnefs, coufin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marksman !—And he's fair I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit.
Rom. Well, in that hit, you mifs: fhe'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow, fhe hath Dian's wit;
And, in trong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow fhe lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when the dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then fhe hath fworn, that he will ftill live chafte?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs by making me despair :
She hath forfworn to love; and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think! Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Rom. 'Tis the way
To call hers, exquifite, in queftion more:
Thefe happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight lost :
Shew me a mistress that is paffing fair,
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honourable reckoning 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 stranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of fourteen
years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth;
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent is but a part;
An fhe agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my confent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading ftars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lufty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even fuch delight
Among fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whofe merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me :-Go, firrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find thofe perfons out,
Whofe names are written there; and to them fay,
My houfe and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET, and PARIS.
Serv. Find them out, whofe names are written here? It is written--that the fhoemaker fhould meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his laft, the fifher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am fent to find thofe perfons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing perfons hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In good time.
Enter BENVOLIO, and ROMEO.
Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burn-
One pain is leffen'd by another's anguish ; [ing,
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One defperate grief cures with another's languish :
Take thou fome new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom. For your broken fhin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,
Whipt, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. Serv. God gi' good-e'en.--I pray, fir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you
fee? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye fay honestly; reft you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.
Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anfelam, and his beauteous fifters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair niece Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.
A fair affembly; whither fhould they come?
Serv. Up.
Rom. Whither? to fupper?
Serv. To our house.
Rom. Whofe house?
Serv. My mafter's.
Rom. Indeed, I fhould have afk'd you that before. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the houfe of Montagues, I pray, come and crufh a cup of wine. Reft you merry.
Ben. At this fame ancient feaft of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona :
Go thither: and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fhall fhew,
And I will make thee think thy fwan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfehood, then turn tears to fires!
And thefe, who, often drown'd, could never die,—
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing fun
Ne'er faw her match, fince first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none else being by,
Herfelf pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in thofe chryftal fcales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against fome other maid
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feast,
And fhe fhall fcant fhew well, that now fhews beft.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
SCENE III. A room in CAPULET's house.
Enter Lady CAPULET, and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurfe, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurfe. Now, by my maiden-head,-at twelve
I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!— God forbid where's this girl?-what, Juliet!
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