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This was my fyrst conceite,--that all her ruth arose
age: So shall you banish care out of your daughters brest, So we her parentes, in our age, shall live in quiet rest.” Whereto gan easely her husband to agree, And to the mothers skilfull talke thus straightway aunswered he. “Oft have I thought, deere wife, of all these things ere this, But evermore my mynd me gave, it should not be amisse By farther leysure had a husband to provyde; Scarce saw she yet full sixteen yeres,—too yong to be a bryde. But since her state doth stande on termes so perilous, And that a mayden daughter is a treasure daungerous, With so great speede I will endeavour to procure A husband for our daughter yong, her sicknes faynt to cure, That you shall rest content, so warely will I choose, And she recover soone enough the time she seemes to loose. The whilst seek you to learne, if she in any part Already hath, unware to us, fixed her frendly hart; Lest we have more respect to honor and to welth, Then to our daughters quiet lyfe, and to her happy helth: Whom I doo hold as deere as thapple of myne eye, And rather wish in poore estate and daughterles to dye, Then leave my goodes and her y-thrald to such a one, Whose chorlish dealing, (I once dead) should be her cause of
mone.” This pleasaunt aunswer heard, the lady partes agayne, And Capilet, the maydens syre, within a day or twayne, Conferreth with his frendes for marriage of his daughter, And many gentilmen there were, with busy care that sought her; Both, for the mayden was well-shaped, yong and fayre, As also well brought up, and wise; her fathers onely heyre.
Emong the rest was one inflamde with her desyre,
Madame, I marvell much, that you so lavasse are
you know if I do lyke or els mislike my lover. Doo what you list; but yet of this assure you still, If
you do as you say you will, I yelde not there untill.
So deepe this aunswere made the sorrowes downe to sinke
Of these her daughters woords, but all appalde she standes,
leysure; Ne on her tears or plaint at all to have remorse, But, if they cannot with her will, to bring the mayde perforce. The message heard, they part, to fetch that they must fet, And willingly with them walkes forth obedient Juliet. Arrived in the place, when she her father saw, Of whom, as much as duety would, the daughter stoode in awe, The servantes sent away (the mother thought it meete), The wofull daughter all bewept fell groveling at his feete, Which she doth wash with teares as she thus groveling lyes ; So fast and eke so plenteously distill they from her eyes : When she to call for grace her mouth doth thinke to open, Muet she is ; for sighes and sols her fearefull talke have broken.
The syre, whose swelling wroth her teares could not asswage, With fiery eyen, and skarlet cheekes, thus spake her in his rage (Whilst ruthfully stood by the maydens mother mylde): “ Listen (quoth he) unthankfull and thou disobedient childe; Hast thou so soone let slip out of thy mynde the woord, That thou so often times hast heard rehearsed at my boord ? How much the Romayne youth of parentes stoode in awe, And eke what powre upon theyr seede the parentes had by
lawe ? Whom they not onely might pledge, alienate, and sell, (When so they stoode in neede) but more, if children did rebell, The parentes had the powre of lyfe and sodayn death. What if those good men should agayne receve the living breth ? In how straight bondes would they the stubborne body bynde ? What weapons would they seeke for thee? what torments would
they fynde. To chasten, if they saw the lewdness of thy life, Thy great unthankfulnes to me, and shameful sturdy stryfe ? Such care thy mother had, so deere thou wert to mee, That I with long and earnest sute provyded have for thee One of the greatest lordes that wonnes about this towne, And for his many vertues sake a man of great renowne. Of whom both thou and I unworthy are too much, So rich ere long he shal be left, his fathers welth is such, Such is the noblenes and honor of the race From whence his father came : and yet thou playest in this case The dainty foole and stubborne gyrle; for want of skill Thou dost refuse thy offered weale, and disobey my will.
Even by his strength I sweare, that fyrst did geve me lyfe,
breath. Advise thee well, and say that thou are warned now, And thinke not that I speake in sporte, or mynde to break my
vowe. For were it not that I to Counte Paris gave My fayth, which I must keepe unfalst, my honor so to save, Ere thou go hence, my selfe would see thee chastned so, That thou shouldst once for all be taught thy dutie how to knowe; And what revenge of olde the angry syres did fynde Agaynst theyre children that rebeld, and shewd them selfe un
kinde.” These sayde, the olde man straight is gone in haste away; Ne for his daughters aunswere would the testy father stay. And after him his wyfe do follow out of doore, And there they leave theyr chidden childe kneeling upon the
floore, Then she that oft had seene the fury of her syre. Dreading what might come of his rage, nould farther styrre his
yre. Unto her chaumber she withdrew her selfe aparte, Where she was wonted to unlode the sorrows of her hart. There did she not so much busy her eyes in sleping, As (overprest with restles thoughts) in piteous booteless weep
ing The fast falling of teares make not her teares decrease, Ne, by the powring forth of playnt, the cause of plaint to cease. So that to thend the mone and sorow may decaye, The best is that she seeke somme meane to take the cause away. Her wery bed betyme the woful wight forsakes, And to saint Frauncis church, to masse, her way devoutly takes. The fryer forth is calde; she prayes him heare her shrift; Devotion is in so young yeres a rare and pretious gyft. When on her tender knees the daynty lady kneeles, In mynde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she feeles, With sighes and salted teares her shriving doth beginne, For she of heaped sorrowes hath to speake, and not of sinne.
Her voyce with piteous playnt was made already horce,
When thys her heavy tale was told, her vowe eke at an ende, Her gasing here and there, her feerce and staring looke, Did witnes that some lewd attempt her hart had undertooke. Whereat the fryer astonde, and gastfully afrayde Lest she by dede perfourme her woord, thus much to her he
sayde: “Ah! Lady Juliet, what nede the wordes you spake ? I pray you, graunt me one request, for blessed Maries sake. Measure somewhat your greefe, hold here a while your peace, Whilst I bethinke me of your case, your plaint and sorowes cease, Such comfort will I geve you, ere you part from hence, And for thassaults of Fortunes yre prepare so sure defence, So holesome salve will I for your afflictions fynde, That you shall hence depart againe with well contented mynde." His wordes have chased straight out of her hart despayre, Her blacke and ougly dredfull thoughts by hope are waxen fayre. So fryer Lawrence now hath left her there alone, And he out of the church in haste is to the chaumber gonne; Where sundry thoughtes within his carefull head aryse; The old mans foresight divers doutes hath set before his eyes. His conscience one while condemns it for a sinne To let her take Paris to spouse, since he him selfe hath byn The chefest cause that she unknown to father or to mother, Nor five monthes past, in that selfe place was wedded to another. An other while an hugy heape of daungers dred His restles thoughts hath heaped up within his troubled hed. Even of itselfe thattempte he judgeth perilous; The execution eke he demes so much more daungerous, That to a womans grace he must him selfe commit, That yong is, simple and unware, for waighty affayres unfit.