beafts,

Will they not hear? what ho! you
Men! you
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage,
With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands
Throw your mil-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our streets:
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans in hands as old.
If ever you affright our ftreets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the reft depart away.
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And Mountague, come you this afternoon
To know our further pleasure in this cafe.
Once more on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.

Manent Mountague and Benvolio.

Moun. W speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

HO fet this ancient quarrel now abroach?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary,
And yours, clofe fighting, ere I did approach;
I drew to part them: in the inftant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his fword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
'He fwung about his head, and cut the winds:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and parts
"Till the prince came.

Moun. O where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.
A 5

Bens

Ben. My lord an hour before the worship'd fun
Peer'd through the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad;
Where underneath the grove of sycamoor,
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 a wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are bufied when they're most alone,)
Purfu'd my humour, not pursuing him,

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly filed from me.
Moun. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;
But all fo foon as the all-chearing fun
Should, in the fartheft 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 council may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the caufe? Mcun. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Meun. Both by myfelf and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counfellor,

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 fpread his fweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Ben. So please you, Sir, Mercutio and myself.
Are most near to him; be it that our years,
Statures, births, fortunes, ftudies, inclinations,
Meafure the rule of his, I know not; but
Friendship ftill loves to fort him with his like.
We will attempt upon his privacy,

And

And could we learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as knowledge.
Moun. 'Twill bind us to you; good Benvolio, go.
Ben. We'll know his grievance, or be hard denied.
[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE III.

Before Capulet's House.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and a Servant.
ND Mountague is bound as well as I,

Cap. A In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard

For men so 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 fay you to my fuit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have said before,
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of eighteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a wife.

Par. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are those so early made:
The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but her.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
If the agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my confent, fo woo her, gentle Paris.
This night I hold an old accuftom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a friend,
Such as I love, and you among the reft;
Once more moft welcome!

Come go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about

[To a Servants

Through fair Verona; find thofe perfons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasures stay. [Exeunt.

SCENE

Mer.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

EE where he fteal-Told I you not, Benvolio,
That we fhould find this melancholy Cupid

Lock'd in fome gloomy covert, under key

Of cautionary filence; with his arms

Threaded, like these cross boughs, in forrow's knot.
Enter Romeo.

Ben Good-morrow, Cousin.

Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me! fad hours feem long.

Mer. Pr'ythee, what fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having makes them short. Ben. In love, me feems!

Alas, that love fo gentle to the view,

Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Where fhall we dine?-O me-Confin Benvolio,
What was the fray this morning with the Capulets?
Yet, tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Love, heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity!

Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

This love feel I; but such my froward fate,
That there I love where most I ought to hate.

Doft thou not laugh, my friend?-Oh Juliet, Juliet !
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

Mer. Tell me in fadnefs, who fhe is you love?
Rom. In fadnefs then, I love a woman.

Mer. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good markfman! and fhe's fair I love: But knows not of my love, 'twas through my eyes

The

The fhaft empierc'd my heart, chance gave the wound,
Which time can never heal: no ftar befriends me,
To each fad night fucceeds a difmal morrow.
And still 'tis hopeless love, and endless forrow,
Mer. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O teach me how I fhould forget to think.
Mer. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Take thou fome new infection to thy heart,
And the rank poifon of the old will die.
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 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,
Remembring me, who paft that paffing fair;
Farewel, thou can'ft not teach me to forget.
Mer. I warrant thee. If thou'lt but flay to hear,
To-night there is an ancient fplendid feaft
Kept by old Capulet, our enemy,

Where all the beauties of Verona meet.
Rom. At Capulet's!

Mer. At Capulet's, my friend;

Go there, and with an unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy fwan a crow!

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfhoods, then turn tears to fires;
And burn the hereticks. All-feeing Phoebus
Ne'er faw her match, fince first his courfe began.
Mer. Tut, tut, you faw her fair, none elfe being by,
Herfelf pois'd with herfelf; but let be weigh'd
Your lady-love against some other fair,

And the will fhew fcant well.

Rom. I will along, Mercutio.

Mer. 'Tis well. Look to behold at this high feast, Earth-treading ftars, that make dim heaven's lights, Hear all, all fee, try all; and like her moft, That moft fhall merit thee.

Rom. My mind is chang'd.

I will not go to-night.

Mer.