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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 ili 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:
Feather of lead, bright imoak, cold fire, fick health,
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.
Ben. Soft, i'll go along.
And if you leave me lo, you do me wrong.
Ben. Tell me in facnels, who fhe is you love..
Ben, aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. But in that hit you mifs;-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 childish bow the lives unharm'd. She will not ftay 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 she dies, with her dies Beauty's ftore.
Ben. Then the hath fworn, that she will still live chafte?
Rom. She hath, and in that fparing makes hugeFor beauty, ftarv'd with her feverity, Cuts beauty off from all pofterity. She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair, To merit blifs by making me despair; She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. 'Tis the way
To call her's (exquifite) in queftion more;
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt: SCENE III. Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servante
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
Par Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before:
Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Ser. Find them out whofe names are written here? It is written that the fhoemaker fhould meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his laft, the fifher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find those persons whofe 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 defperate grief cure with another's languish:
Rom. Your plantan-leaf is excellent for that.
Rom. For your broken fhin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is : Shut up in prifon, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented: and-Good e'en, good fellow. [To the Servant. Ser. God gi' good e'en. I pray, Sir, can you read ? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.
Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you fee?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
He reads the letter.
Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count Anfelm, and his beauteous fifters; the Lady, widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Gapulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentic, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena A fair affembly; whither should they come?
Ser. To fupper, to our houfe,
Rom. Whofe houfe?
Ser. My mafter's.
Rom. Indeed I should have afk'd you that before. Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come, and crush a cup of wine. Reft you merry.
Ben. At this fame ancient feast of Capulet's
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains fuch falfehoods, then turn tears to fires! And these who, often drown'd, could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for lyars! One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing fun Ne'er faw her match fince first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none elle being by; Herself pois'd with herself, in either eye: But in thofe cryftal fcales, let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid, That I will fhew you, thining at this feast; And she will fhew fcant well, that now fhews best. Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be fhewn; But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.
SCENE IV. Changes to Capulet's house. Enter lady Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurfe, where's my daughter? call her forth
Nurfe. Now (by my maidenhead, at twelve years old) I bade her come; what, lamb,-what, lady.bird, God forbid!where's this girl? what, Juliet ?
Jul. How now, who calls?
Jul Madam, I am here, what is your will? La. Cap. This is the matter.- Nurfe give leave a while, we must talk in fecret: nurie, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our countel: thou know't my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurfe. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four), fhe's not fourteen,