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Ben. It was what fadnes lengthens Romeos houres?
Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them fhort.

Ben. In loue.

Romeo. Out.

Ben. Of loue.

Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue.

Ben. Alas that loue fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proofe.

Romeo. Alas that loue, whofe view is muffled still,
Should without eyes, fee pathwaies to his will:
Where fhall we dine? O 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 any thing of nothing firft created:

O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,

Mishapen Chaos of welseeing formes,

Feather of lead, bright fmoke, cold fier, ficke health,
Still waking fleepe, that is not what it is.

This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this,

Doeft thou not laugh?

Ben. No coze, I rather weepe.

Rom. Good heart at what?

Ben. At thy good harts oppreffion.

Romeo. Why fuch is loues tranfgreffion.

Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,

Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preaft,

With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,
Doth ad more griefe, to too much of mine owne.
Loue is a fmoke made with the fume of fighes,
Being purgd, a fire fparkling in louers eyes,
Being vext, a fea nourifht with louing teares,
What is it elfe? A madneffe, most discreet,


A choking gall, and a preferuing sweet:
Farewell my coze.

Ben. Soft I will goe along.

And if you leaue me fo, you doe me wrong.
Rom. Tut I haue loft my selfe, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, hees fome other where.

Ben. Tell me in fadneffe, who is that you loue?
Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee?
Ben. Grone, why no: but fadly tell me who.
Rom. A ficke man in sadnesse makes † his will:
A word ill vrgd to one that is fo ill:

In sadnesse cozin, I do loue a woman.

Ben. I aymd fo neare, when I fuppofde you lou'd.
Rom. A right good marke man, and fhee's faire I loue.
Ben. A right faire marke faire coze is foonest hit.
Romeo. Well in that hit you miffe, fheel not be hit
With Cupids arrow, fhe hath Dians wit:

And in ftrong proofe of chaftitie well armd,
From loues weake childish bow fhe liues vncharmd.
Shee will not stay the fiege of louing tearmes,.
Nor bide th' incounter of affailing eyes.
Nor ope her lap to fainct-feducing gold,

O fhe is rich in beautie, onely poore,

That when he dies, with beautie dies her ftore.

Ben. Then fhe hath fworne, that fhe will ftill liue chaft?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing, make huge wast :

For beauty fteru'd with her feuerity,

Cuts beauty off from all posteritie.

She is too faire, too wife, wifely too faire,

To merit bliffe by making me dispaire :
She hath forfworne to loue, and in that vow,

Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now.

Ben. Be rulde by me, forget to thinke of her. Rom. O teach me how I fhould forget to thinke. * Bid a. + make.


Ro. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes,

Examine other beauties.

Ro. Tis the way to call hers (exquifit) in question more, These happy maskes that kiffe faire ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire : He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft, Shew me a mistreffe that is paffing faire, What doth her beauty ferue but as a note, Where I may read who past that paffing faire: Farewell thou canst not teach me to forget, Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Enter Capulet, countie Paris, and the Clowne.

Cap. Monntague † is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and tis not hard I thinke,
For men fo old as wee to keepe the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
And pittie tis you liu'd at ods fo long:
But now my lord, what fay you to my fute?

Capu. But faying ore what I haue faid before,

My child is yet a stranger in the world,

Shee hath not feene the change of fourteene yeares,
Let two more fummers wither in their pride
Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a bride.

Pari. Younger then fhe, are happy mothers made.
Capu. And too foone mard are those so early made :
Earth hath fwallowed all my hopes but she,

Shees the hopefull lady of my earth,

But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent, is but a part,


† And Mountague.

* She is.


And fhe agree, within her fcope of choife
Lyes my confent, and faire according voice:
This night I hold, an old accuftomd feaft,
Whereto I haue inuited many a guest,

Such as I loue, and you among the store,
One more, most welcome makes my number more:
At my poore house, looke to behold this night,
Earth treading ftarres, that make darke heauen light,
Such comfort as do lufty young men feele,
When well appareld Aprill on the heele
Of limping winter treads, euen fuch delight
Among fresh fennell buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my house, heare all, all fee:
And like her moft, whofe merit moft fhall be:
Which one more veiw of many, mine being one,
May stand in number though in reckning none.
Come goe with me, goe firrah trudge about,
Through faire Verona, find thofe perfons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay,

Exit. Here it is

Ser. Find them out whofe names are written. written, that the fhoo-maker should meddle with his yard, and the tayler with his laft, the fisher with his penfill, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find those perfons whofe names are here writ, and can neuer find what names the writing perfon hath here writ, (I must to the learned) in good time

Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.

Ben. Tut man one fire burnes out an others burning,

One paine is lefned by an others anguish:

Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning :
One defperate greefe, cures with an others languish :



Take thou fome new infection to the eye,
And the rank poyfon' of the old wil die.
Romeo. Your plantan leafe is excellent for that.
Ben. For what I pray thee?

Romeo. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad but bound more then 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.
Ser. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry.
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.

He reades the letter.

Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughters: county Anfelme and his beautious fifters: the ladic widdow of Vtruuio, feigneur Placentio, and his louely neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters : my faire neece Rofaline, Liuia, feigneur Valentio, and his cofen Tybalt Lucio and the liuely Helena.

A faire affembly, whither fhould they come ?

Ser. Vp.

Ro. Whither to fupper.

Ser. To our house.

Ro. Whofe house?

Ser. My maifters.

Ro. Indeede I should haue askt you that before.

Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maifter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Moun


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