« AnteriorContinua »
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.
Ben. See, where he comes : fo please you, step aside, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.
Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away. (Exeunt.
Ben. Good-morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day fo
young? Ben. But new itruck nine.
Rom. Ah me, sad hours seem long!
Was that my father that went hence so fast ?
Ben. It was: what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ?.
Ro. Not having that, which, having, makes them short,
Ben. In love?
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes fee path-ways to his will ! Where shall we dine ? O me!--What fray was here!
Or dedicate bis Beauty to the Same.] to the fame?
Sure, alf the Lovers of Shakespeare and Poetry' will agree, chat this is a very idle, dragging Parapleromatic, as the Grammarians ftyle it. But our Author generally in his Similies is accurate in the cloat bing of them, and therefore, I believe,' would not have overcharged this fo infipidly. When we come to consider, that there is some power else besides balmy Air, that brings forth, and makes the tender Buds. Spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote ;
Or dedicate his Beauty to the Sun. Or, according to the more obsolete fyelling, Sunno; which brings it nearer to the Traces of the corrupied Text,
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love :
Why then, O brawling love ! O loving hate !
Oh, any thing of nothing first create !
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mil-tapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, fuch is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them prest
With more of thine; this love, that thou haft shewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it else? à madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet :
Farewel, my coufin ;
[Going. Ben. Soft, I'll go along. And if you leave me so, you do me wrong;
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here ;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love?
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no; but sadly tell me, who.
Rom. - Bid a fick man in sadness make his will ?
O word, ill-urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I suppos’d you lov’d.
Rom. A right good marks-man;- and she's fair, I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is sooneft hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss ;- she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; the hath Dian's wit:
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,
From love's weak childish bow, he lives unharı'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
O fhe is rich in beauty; only poor,
That when she dies, with her dies beauty's store.
Ben. Then the hath sworn, that she will still live chatte?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waite.
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair;
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be ruld by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I mould forget to think.''
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ;
Examine other beauties.
Rom. 'Tis the
To call hers (exquifite) in question more
Those happy malks, that kils fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasuse of his eye-light loft.
Shew me a mistress, that is pafling fair ;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that pafling fair ?
Farewel, thou cant not teach me to forget,
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men to old as we to keep the peaae.
Par. Of honourable reck’ning are you both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long :
But now, my Lord, what say you to my fuit :-
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a Itranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years ;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those-so early made :
The earth hath swallowed 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 consent is but a part;
If she 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 itars that make dark heaven's light.
Such comfort as do lufty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, ev'n such delight
Among fresh female-hads Mall
Inherit at my house; hear all, all fee,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be :
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May itand in number, tho' in reck’ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
names are written there ; and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure itay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Sero. Find them out whose names are written here?
-It is written, that the Shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the Taylor with his last, the Fisher with his pencil, and the Painter with his nets. But I. am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the Learned.---In good time,
Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish : Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning;
One desperate grief cure with another's languish :
Take thou some 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 is:
Shut up in prison, 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 read ? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: Can you read any thing you see?
Roin. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Seru. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry.
Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.
[He reads the letter.] Ånselm and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentia, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters ; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Vaz lentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; whither should they come? (2)
(2) A fair Afembly: Whitber pould they come?
Rom. Wbitber? to Supper ?
Serv. To our Ilouse.] Romea had read over the List of invited Guests; but he must be a Proph:t, to know they were invited to Supper. This comes much more aptly from the Servant's Answer, than Romeo's Question; and mult undoubtedly be placed to bim.