By the old Capulet and Mountague,
Haue thrice difturbd the quiet of our streets.
If euer you disturbe our streets againe,
Your liues fhall pay the ranfome of your fault:
For this time euery man depart in peace.
Come Capulet come you along with me,
And Mountague, come you this afternoone,
To know our farther pleasure in this cafe,
To old free towne our common iudgement place,
Once more on paine of death each man depart.
M. wife. Who fet this auncient quarrel first abroach?
Speake nephew, were you by when it began?
Benuo. Here were the feruants of your aduerfaries,
And yours close fighting ere I did approch.
Wife. Ah where is Romeo, faw you him to day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Ben. Madame, an houre before the worshipt funnę
Peept through the golden window of the east,
A troubled thought drew me from companie :
Where vnderneath the groue ficamoure
That weftward rooteth from the cities fide,
So early walking might I fee your fonne.
I drew towards him, but he was ware of me,
And drew into the thicket of the wood :
I noting his affections by mine owne,
That most are bufied when th' are most alone,
Pursued my honor, not purfuing his.
Moun. Black and portentious muft this honor proue,
Vnleffe good counfaile doo the cause remooue,
Ben. Why tell me Vicle do you know the caufe?
Enter Romeo.
Moun. I neyther know it nor can learne of him. Ben. See where he is, but ftand you both afide, Ile know his grieuance, or be much denied.
A 4
Mount. I would thou wert fo happie by thy stay
To heare true fhrift. Come madame lets away.
Benuo. Good morrow cofen.
Romeo. Is the day fo young?
Ben. But new stroke nine.
Romeo. Ay me, fad hopes feeme long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was, what forrow lengthens Romeos hours?
Romeo. Not hauing that, which hauing makes them fhort.
Ren. In loue.
Romeo. Out.
Ben. Of loue.
Ro. Out of her fauour where I am in loue. Ben. Alas that loue fo gentle in her view, Should be fo tyrranous and rough in proofe.
Ro. Alas that loue whofe view is muffled ftill, Should without lawes giue path-waies to our will: Where fhall we dine? Gods me, what fray was here? Yet tell me not for I haue heard it all,
Heres much to doe with hate, but more with loue.
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate,
O anie thing, of nothing firft create!
O heauie lightnes ferious vanitie!
Mishapen Caos of best seeming thinges,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, ficke health,
Still waking fleepe, that is not what it is:
This loue feele I, which feele no loue in this.
Doeft thou not laugh?
Ren. No cofe I rather weepe.
Rom. Good hart at what?
Ben. At thy good hearts oppreffion.
Ro. Why fuch is loues tranfgreffion,
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie at my hart,
Which thou wouldst propagate to haue them prest
With more of thine, this griefe that thou haft showne,
Doth ad more griefe to too much of mine owne.
Loue is a smoke raifde with the fume of fighes
Being purgde, a fire fparkling in louers eyes :
Being vext, a fea raging with a louers tears.
What is it elfe? A madnes most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preferuing fweet. Farewell cofe,
Ben. Nay Ile goe along.
And if you hinder me you doo me wrong.
Ro. Tut I haue loft my felfe I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee's fome other where.
Ben. Tell me in fadnes whome she is you loue?
Ro. What shall I grone and tell thee?
Ben. Why no, but fadly tell me who.
Ro. Bid a fick man in fadness make his will.
Ah word ill vrgde to one that is so ill.
In fadnes cofen I doo loue a woman.
Ben. I aimde fo right, when as you faid you lou'd.
Ro. A right good mark-man, and fhee's faire I loue.
Ben. A right faire marke faire cofe is fooneft hit.
Ro. But in that hit you miffe, fhee'le not be hit
With Cupids arrow, fhee hath Dianaes wit,
And in strong proofe of chaftitie well arm'd:
Gainft Cupids childish bow fhe liues vnharm'd,
Shee'le not abide the fiedge of louing tearmes,
Nor ope her lap to faint feducing gold,
Ah fhe is rich in beautie, only poore,
That when fhe, dies with beautie dies her ftore.
Enter Countie Paris, old Capulet.
Of honorable reckoning are they both,
And pittie tis they liue at ods fo long:
But leauing that, what fay you to my fute?
Capu. What should I fay more than I faid before,
My daughter is a stranger in the world,
Shee hath not yet attainde to fourteene yeares:
Let two more fommers wither in their pride,
Before fhe can be thought fit for a bride.
Paris. Younger than fhe are happie mothers made.
Cap. But too foone marde are thefe fo early maried s
But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,
My word to her confent is but a part.
This night I hold an old accuftom'd feast,
Whereto I haue inuited many a guest,
Such as I loue yet you among the store,
One more most welcome makes the number more.
At my poore houfe you fhall behold this night,
Earth treadding stars, that make darke heauen light:
Such comfort as doo lufty youngmen feele,
When well apparaild Aprill on the heele
Of lumping winter treads, euen fuch delights
Amongst fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe, heare all, all fee,
And like her moft, whofe merite moft fhal be.
Such amongst view of many myne beeing one,
May ftand in number though in reckoning none.
Enter Seruingmen.
Where are you firra, goe trudge about
Through faire Verona ftreets, and feeke them out:
Whofe names are written here and to them fay,
My house and welcome at their pleasure stay.
Exeunt.
Ser. Seeke them out whofe names are written here, and yet I knowe not who are written here: I muft to the learned to learne of them, that's as much to fay, the taylor must meddle with his lafte, the fhoomaker with his needle, the
painter
painter with his nets, and the fisher with his penfill, I must to the learned.
Enter Benuolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut man one fire burnes out anothers burning,
One paine is leffned with anothers anguish:
Turne backward, and be holp with backward turning,
One defperate griefe cures with anothers languish.
Take thou fome new infection to thy eye,
And the ranke poyfon of the old will die.
Romeo. Your planton leafe is excellent for that.
Ben. For what?
Romeo. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is.
Shut vp in prifon, kept without my foode,
Whipt and tormented, and godden good fellow.
Ser. Godgigoden, I pray fir can you read,
Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miferie.
Ser. Perhaps you haue learned it without booke:
but I pray can you read any thing you fee?
Rom. I if I know, the letters and the language.
Seru. Yee fay honeftly, reft you merrie.
Rom. Stay fellow I can read.
He reads the letter.
Seigneur Martino and his wife and daughters, countie Anfelme and his beauteous fifters, the ladie widow of Vtruuio, feigneur Placentio, and his louelie neeces, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters, my faire neece Rofaline and Liuia, seigneur Valentio and his cofen Tibalt, Lucio and the liuelie Hellena.
A faire affembly, whether fhould they come ?
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