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By the old Capulet and Mountague,
Haue thrice difturbd the quiet of our streets.
Your liues fhall pay the ranfome of your fault:
Benuo. Here were the feruants of your aduerfaries,
Wife. Ah where is Romeo, faw you him to day?
Ben. Madame, an houre before the worshipt funnę
I noting his affections by mine owne,
That most are bufied when th' are most alone,
Moun. Black and portentious muft this honor proue,
Ben. Why tell me Vicle do you know the caufe?
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.
Mount. I would thou wert fo happie by thy stay
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.
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!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, ficke health,
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,
A choking gall, and a preferuing fweet. Farewell cofe,
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?
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.
Enter Countie Paris, old Capulet.
Of honorable reckoning are they both,
Capu. What should I fay more than I faid before,
Paris. Younger than fhe are happie mothers made.
Where are you firra, goe trudge about
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 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,
And the ranke poyfon of the old will die.
Romeo. Your planton leafe is excellent for that.
Romeo. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is.
Rom. I if I know, the letters and the language.
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 ?