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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 reck'ning are you both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds fo long.
But now, my Lord, what say you to my Suit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before;
My child is yet a ftranger 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 the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are those so 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;
If the 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 number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night


Earth-treading ftars that make dark heaven's light. Such

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Such comfort as ' do lufty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, ev'n fuch delight
Among fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my house, hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be :
+ Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May ftand in number, tho' in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there; and to them fay,
My houfe and welcome on their pleasure stay.

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[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

as much in an affembly of beauties, as young men feel in the month of April, is furely to waste found upon a very poor fentiment. I read,

Such comfort as do lufty yeomen feel.

You shall feel from the fight and converfation of those ladies, fuch hopes of happiness and fuch pleasure, as the farmer receives from the fpring, when the plenty of the year begins, and the profpect of the harvest fills him with delight.

4 Which on more view of many, mine, being one, May fand in number, tho' in reckning none] The first of thefe lines I do not understand. The old folio gives no help; paffage is there, Which one more view. I can offer nothing bet ter than this:


Within your view of many,
nine being one,
May fand in number, &c.

Serv. Find them out, whofe names are written here?

-It is written, that the Shoemaker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find thofe Perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I muft to the Learned. In good time,

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguish,

Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning, One defperate grief cure with another's Languish; Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan 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 mad-man


Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

[To the Servant. Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, Sir, can you


Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book,
But, I pray,


you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Serv. Ye fay honeftly. Reft you merry.

Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.




[He reads the lift.]

Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count Anfelm, and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine: mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice 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 afking. My mafter 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. [Exit.

Ben. At this fame ancient Feaft of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fo lov'ft;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fhall fhow,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.

5 A fair affembly; whither
Should they come ?
Serv. Up.-

Rom. Whither? to fupper? Serv. To our bufe.] Romeo had read over the lit cf invited guests; but how fhould he know they were invited to fupper? This comes much more aptly

from the Servant's answer, than Romeo's queftion; and must undoubtedly be placed to him.


When a man reads a lift of guefls, he knows that they are invited to fomething, and, without any extraordinary good fortune, may guefs, to a fupper.


Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains fuch fafhoods, then turn tears to fires ! And these, who, often drown'd, could never die, Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing Sun Ne'er faw her match, fince firft the world begun. Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elle being by,


Herself pois'd with herself, in either eye;
But in those crystal fcales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady-love against fome other maid,
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feaft,
And she will fhew fcant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be shewn;
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.


La. Cap.

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Enter Lady Capulet and Nurfe.

URSE, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.


Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years


I bade her come; what, lamb! what, lady-bird !
God forbid !-where's this girl? what, Juliet?

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