Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Suri
Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That weftward rooteth from the City fide,
So early walking did I fee your fon.

Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And ftole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are bufied when they're moft alone,
Pursued my humour, not purfuing him;

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen With tears augmenting the frefh morning-dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs; But all fo foon as the all-chearing Sun

Should, in the furtheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber
pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.

Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unless good counfel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. 7 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means Mon. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor,

Is to himself, I will not fay, how true,
But to himself fo fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,

Ere he can spread his fweet leaves to the Air,
8 Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow, We would as willingly give Cure, as know.

Enter Romeo,

Ben. See, where he comes. So please you, step afide,

I'll know his grievance, or be much deny❜d.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay

To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away.

Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.
Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!

[Exeunt.

-Was that my father that went hence fo faft?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them
fhort.

Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

& Or dedicate his beauty to the Same.] When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds fpread themfelves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote;

Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun,

Or, according to the more ob

folete fpelling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. THEOB.

I cannot but fufpect that fome lines are loft, which connected this fimile more closely with the foregoing fpeech; thefe lines, if fuch there were, lamented the danger that Romeo will die of his melancholy, before his virtues or abilities are known to the world.

Ben

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view,
Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled ftill,
Should without eyes fee-path-ways to his will!
Where fhall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.

[Striking his breaft.

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!

Oh, any thing of nothing first create !

O heavy lightness! ferious vanity!

Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

Rom. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;

Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine; this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own

9-to his will!] Sir T. Han mer, and after him Dr. Warbur ton, read, to his ill. The prefent reading has fome obfcurity; the meaning may be, that love finds out means to purfue his defire. That the blind fhould find paths to ill is no great wonder.

Why then, O brawling love, &c. Of thefe lines neither the fenfe nor occafion is very evident. He is not yet in love with an enemy, and to love one and

1

3

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preferving fweet.
Farewel, my cousin,

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

[Going.

And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have loft myself, I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's fome other where.

Ben. 5 Tell me in sadness, who she is you love?
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will?--
O word, ill urg'd to one that is fo ill!

In fadnefs, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marks-man;-and fhe's fair, I
love.

Bea. A right fair mark, fair coz, is fooneft hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss; she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; the hath Dian's wit:
And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow, the lives unharm❜d.
She will not stay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold,

O, she is rich in beauty; only poor

That when the dies, 7 with Beauty dies her Store. Ben. Then he hath fworn, that fhe 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, 9 too wifely fair,
To merit blifs by making me defpair;
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 fhould forget to think..
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other Beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers exquifite in queftion more;
Those happy masks, that kifs fair ladies' brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft,
Shew me a miftrefs, that is paffing fair,
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt.
[Exeunt.

7 with Beauty dies her Store.] Mr. Theobald reads.

With her dies beauties ftore. and is followed by the two fuc ceeding editors. I have replaced the old reading, becaufe I think it at least as plaufible as the correction. She is rich, fays he, in beauty, and only poor in being fubject to the lot of huma

nity, that her store, or riches, can be destroyed by death, who fhall, by the fame blow, put an end to beauty..

Rom. She bath, and in that Sparing, &c.] None of the following fpeeches of this fcene in the first edition of 1597. POPE.

9 too wifely fair,] Hanmer. For, wifely too fair.

SCENE