Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene, With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw, Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes, But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne, Should in the farthest East begin to draw The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed, Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne, And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe, Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out, And makes himselfe an artificiall night: Blacke and portendous must this humour proue, Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue
Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause? Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him
Ben. Haue you importun'd him by any meanes? Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends, But he his owne affections counseller, Is to himselfe (I will not say how true) But to himselfe so secret and so close, So farre from sounding and discouery, As is the bud bit with an enuious worme, Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre, Or dedicate his beauty to the same. Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow, We would as willingly giue cure, as know. Enter Romeo.
Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside, Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide
Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.
Exeunt.
Ben. Good morrow Cousin
Rom. Is the day so young? Ben. But new strooke nine
Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long: Was that my Father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres? Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short Ben. In loue
Romeo. Out
Ben. Of loue
Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue
Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe
Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will: Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere? Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all: Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue: Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, O any thing, of nothing first created: O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity, Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes, Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health, Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this. Doest thou not laugh? Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe
Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good hearts oppression
Rom. Why such is loues transgression. Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne, Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne. Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes, Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes, Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares, What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet, A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet: Farewell my Coze
Ben. Soft I will goe along. And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong
Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee's some other where
Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue? Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee? Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who
Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will: A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill: In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman
Ben. I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd
Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue Ben. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit
Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit: And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd: From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd. Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes, Nor bid th' encounter of assailing eyes. Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold: O she is rich in beautie, onely poore, That when she dies, with beautie dies her store
Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast? For beauty steru'd with her seuerity, Cuts beauty off from all posteritie. She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire, To merit blisse by making me dispaire: She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke
Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes, Examine other beauties, Ro. 'Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more, These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire: He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost: Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire, What doth her beauty serue but as a note, Where I may read who past that passing faire. Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget, Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.
Capu. Mountague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I thinke, For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace
Par. Of Honourable reckoning are you both, And pittie 'tis you liu'd at ods so long: But now my Lord, what say you to my sute? Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before, My Child is yet a stranger in the world, Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares, Let two more Summers wither in their pride, Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride
Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made
Capu. And too soone mar'd are those so early made: Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth: But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent, is but a part, And shee agree, within her scope of choise, Lyes my consent, and faire according voice: This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast, Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest, Such as I loue, and you among the store, One more, most welcome makes my number more: At my poore house, looke to behold this night, Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light, Such comfort as do lusty young men feele, When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heele Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night Inherit at my house: heare all, all see: And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckning none. Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about, Through faire Verona, find those persons out, Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay. Enter.
Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time. Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.
Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning, One paine is lesned by anothers anguish: Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning: One desparate greefe, cures with anothers languish: Take thou some new infection to the eye, And the rank poyson of the old wil die
Rom. Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that
Ben. For what I pray thee? Rom. For your broken shin
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is: Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode, Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow, Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read? Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie
Ser. Perhaps you haue learn'd it without booke: But I pray can you read any thing you see? Rom. I, if I know the Letters and the Language
Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.
He reades the Letter.
Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, & his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena. A faire assembly, whither should they come? Ser. Vp
Rom. Whither? to supper? Ser. To our house
Rom. Whose house? Ser. My Maisters
Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before
Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. Enter.
Ben. At this same auncient Feast of Capulets Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues: With all the admired Beauties of Verona, Go thither and with vnattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow
Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eye Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire: And these who often drown'd could neuer die, Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers. One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun Nere saw her match, since first the world begun