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A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad;
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That weftward rooteth from this 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 the wood.
I measuring his affections by my own,

That most are bufied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour, not purfuing ''him ;`
And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled 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-cheering 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 counfel may the caufe remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Moun. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Moun. Both by my felf and many other friends;
But he, his own affection's counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not fay how true,
But to himself so fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and discovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his fweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the 'fun.`

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

Ben. See where he comes: fo please you step afide,

I'll

1 his...old edit. Thirl. emend. 2 fame... old edit. Theob, emend.

I'll know his grievance, or be much deny❜d.

Moun. I would thou wert fo happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, Madam, let's away. [Exeunt. Ben. Good morrow, coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!

Was that my father that went hence fo faft?

Ben. It was: what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having makes them short. Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled ftill, Should without eyes fee path-ways to his ''ill!`

Where fhall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?—
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 firft create!

O heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity!

Mif-shapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright fmoke, cold fire, fick health! Still-waking-fleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel 1, that feel no love in this.

Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

Rom. Griefs of mine own lye heavy in my breaft; Which thou wilt propagate to have them prest With more of thine; this love that thou haft fhewn Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a fmoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,

Being

3 will!

Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lovers eyes,
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet :
Farewel, my cozen.

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

An if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.

Rom. But I have loft my felf, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, he's fome other where.

Ben. Tell me in fadness, who fhe is you love.
Rom. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no;

But fadly tell me, who.

[Going.

Rom. Bid a fick man in fadness make his willO word, ill urg'd to one that is fo ill

In fadness, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marks-man;-and fhe's fair I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is fooneft hit.
Rom. But in that hit you miss;

-fhe'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow; fhe hath Dian's wit:
And in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,

From love's weak childifh bow fhe lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.
O, fhe is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when the dies, with 4 'her dies beauty's ftore.`
Ben. Then she hath fworn, that fhe will ftill live chafte?
Rom. She hath, and in that fparing makes huge waste.
For beauty ftarv'd with her feverity,

Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.

She is too fair, too wife; 'too wifely fair,`
To merit blifs by making me defpair;

She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

4 beauty dies her ftore. . . old, edit. Theob. emend. 5 wifely too fair,

:

Ben.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I fhould forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers (exquifite) in queftion more:
Those happy masks that kifs fair Ladies brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft.
Shew me a mistress that is paffing fair;
What doth her beauty serve but as a note,
Where I may read who paft that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt. [Exeunt.

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Cap. And Mountague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men fo 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 faid before:
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are those fo early made:
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but her.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent is but a part;
If the agree, within her fcope of choice

Lyes

Lyes my confent, and fair according voice:
This night, I hold an old accuftom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love, and you among the store
One more, 'o'th' welcome makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading ftars that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort as do lufty young men feel,
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even fuch delight
Among fresh female-buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine being one
May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.
Come go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona, find those persons out
Whofe names are written there, and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Ser. Find them out whofe names are written here? It is written, that the fhoemaker fhould meddle with his yard, and the taylor with his laft, the fifher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find those perfons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing perfon 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 leffen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy and be help'd by backward turning, One defperate grief cure with another's languish: Take thou fome new infection to the eye, And the rank poifon of the old will die. Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for that. Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom.

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