Montague.
Mon.
Thou villain, Capulet—Hold me not, me go.
La. Mon.
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince, with attendants.
Prin.
Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this neighbour-stained steel—
Will they not hear? what ho, you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the Quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Cast by their grave, beseeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away,
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.
La. Mon.
Who set this antient quarrel new abroach;
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?
Ben.
Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds:
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in Scorn.
-- 131 --
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
'Till the Prince came, who parted either Part.
La. Mon.
O where is Romeo! Saw you him to day?
Right-glad am I, he was not at this fray.
Ben.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun(2) note
Peer'd through the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad:
Where underneath the grove of sycamour,
That westward rooteth from the City side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are busied when they're most alone,)
Pursued my humour, not pursuing him;(3) note
And gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon.
Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;
Adding to Clouds more Clouds with his deep Sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering Sun
Should, in the farthest east, begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from Light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
-- 132 --
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon.
I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben.
Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon.
Both by my self and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not say, how true;
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,(4) note
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.
Enter Romeo.
Ben.
See, where he comes: so 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 shrift. Come, Madam, let's away.
[Exe.
Ben.
Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.
Is the day so young?
Ben.
But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ah me, sad hours seem long!
Was that my father, that went hence so fast?
-- 133 --
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, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see path-ways to his will!
Where shall 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 first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 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, such 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 hast shewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes;
Being vext, a sea nourish'd with lovers tears;
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet:
Farewel, my cousin.
[Going.
Ben.
Soft, I'll go along.
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom.
Tut! I have lost my self, I am not here;
-- 134 --
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 sick 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 so 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 soonest hit.
Rom.
But in that hit you miss;—she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit:
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow, she lives unharm'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, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That when she dies, with her dies Beauty's Store.(5) note
Ben.
Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?
Rom.
She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge waste.
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair;
She hath foresworn 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.
O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Ben.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other Beauties.
Rom.
'Tis the way
-- 135 --
To call hers (exquisite) in question more:
Those happy masks, that kiss fair ladies brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost.
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and servant.
Cap.
And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
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 Suit?
Cap.
But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger 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 consent, 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 stars that make dark heaven's light.
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
-- 136 --
Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female-buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, tho in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona, find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Cap. and Par.
Ser.
Find them out, whose names are written here?—
It is written, that the Shooe-maker should meddle with
his Yard, and the Tailor 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 shin.
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.
Ser.
God gi' good-e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read?
Rom.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Ser.
Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray,
Can you read any thing you see?
Rom.
Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
-- 137 --
Ser.
Ye say honestly, rest you merry.—
Rom.
Stay, fellow, I can read.
[He reads the letter.
Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count Anselm
and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio;
Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio
and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and
daughters; my fair neice Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio,
and his cousin Tibalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.
A fair assembly; wither should they come?(6) note
Ser.
Up.—
Rom.
Whither?
Ser.
To Supper, to our house.
Rom.
Whose house?
Ser.
My master's.
Rom.
Indeed, I should have askt 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. Rest
you merry.
[Exit.
Ben.
At this same antient Feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.
Rom.
When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehoods, then turn tears to fires;
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing Sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben.
Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none else being by;
Her self pois'd with her self, in either eye:
-- 138 --
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your Lady-love against some other maid,(7) note
That I will shew you, shining at this feast,
And she will shew scant well, that now shews best.
Rom.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
