La. Mon.
Who set this ancient 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.
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
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,
^{5 note}



That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing him;
^{6 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-chearing Sun
Should, in the furthest 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,
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.

^{7 note}Ben.
Have you importun'd him by any means?

Mon.
Both by myself 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,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the Air,
^{8 note}

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. [Exeunt.

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?

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 ^{9 note}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. [Striking his breast.
^{1 note}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.
^{2 note}

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs,
^{3 note}

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.
^{5 note}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, ^{6 note}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, ^{7 note}

Ben.
Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

^{8 note}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, ^{9 note}too wisely 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 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
To call hers exquisite in question more;
Those happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, puts 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.

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