Prin.
Rebellious Subjects! Enemies to Peace;
That quench the Fire of your pernicious Rage,
With Purple-Fountains issuing from your Veins;
On Pain of Death, sheath your mistemper'd Blades,
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 ancient Citizens,
Cast by their grave beseeming Ornaments.
If ever you disturb our Streets again,
Your Lives shall pay the Forfeit of your Peace.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And Montague, come you this Afternoon,
To know our farther Pleasure in this Case.
On Pain of Death, let every Man depart. [Exit Prince and Attendance. Remain Lord Montague, and Benvolio.

Mont.
Who set this ancient Quarrel new abroach?
Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?—

Benv.
Here were the Servants of your Adversary,
And yours, close fighting, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part 'em: 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;
While we were interchanging Thrusts and Blows,
Came more, and more, and fought on Part and Part,
Till the Prince came.

O. Mon.
Where is Romeo?

Benv.
My Lord, an Hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peep'd thro' the golden Window of the East,
A troubled Mind drew me from Company;
When, underneath a Grove of Sycamour,
That Westward rooteth from this City Side,
So early walking did I see your Son;
Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the Covert of the Wood;
I measuring his Affections by my own,
Which most are busied, when they are left alone,
Pursued my Humour; not pursuing his:
And gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.

Mount.
Many a Morning hath he there been seen,
With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew;
But all so soon as the all-chearing 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; looks fair Day-light out;
And makes himself an artificial Night.
Black and portentous, must this Humour prove,
Unless good Counsel may the Cause remove.

Benv.
My noble Uncle, do you know the Cause?

Mount.
I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.

Benv.
Have you importun'd him by any means?

Mount.
Both by my self, and many other Friends:
But he, his own Affection's 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,
Or dedicate his Beauty to the Sun.
Wou'd I cou'd learn from whence his Sorrows grow!

Benv.
See, where he comes: So please you step aside.
I'll try to learn his Grievance.

Mount.
Would thou may'st be so happy: I'll retire. [Exit Moun.

Enter Romeo.

Benv.
Good-Morrow, Cousin.

Rom.
Is the Day so young?

Benv.
But now struck Nine.

Rom.
Alas! sad Hours seem long!
Was that my Father, that went hence but now?

Benv.
It was. What Sadness lengthens Romeo's Hours?

Rom.
Not having that, which had, would make them short.

Benv.
Are you in Love, good Cousin?

Rom.
Say I were,
Were it a Wonder, Cousin?

Benv.
Returns the Fair-one, Love?

Rom.
I would she did!

Benv.
Alas! that Love, so gentle to our View,
Should often prove so harsh and tyrannous.

Rom.
Pri'thee no more; thou wilt but laugh at me.

Benv.
No, Coz. I rather weep.

Rom.
Good Heart, at what?

Benv.
At thy good Heart's Oppression.

Rom.
The friendly Love, Benvolio, 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 Lover's Eyes:
Being vex'd, a Sea nourish'd with Lovers Tears.
What is it else? A Madness most discreet;
A choaking Gall, and a preserving Sweet.
Farewel.

Benv.
Let me go with you; for if you leave me thus, you do me wrong.

Rom.
But I am lost, or am no more my self;
Think not this Romeo, whom you see before you.

Benv.
Tell me, in Sadness, who she is you love?

Rom.
In Sadness, Cousin, I do love a Woman.

Benv.
I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom.
A right good Marksman;—and she's fair I love.

Benv.
A right fair Mark, good Coz, is soonest hit.

Rom.
Cousin, therein you miss;—She'll not be hit,
With Cupid's Arrow; she hath Diana'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.

Benv.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste.

Rom.
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.
For Beauty starv'd by her Severity,
Cuts Beauty off from all Posterity.

Benv.
Be rul'd by me: Forget to think of her.

Rom.
First, teach me how I should forget to think.

Benv.
By giving Liberty unto thy Eyes: Examine other Beauties.

Rom.
'Tis the way
To call her's [exquisite] in Question more.
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 still surpasses her! Enter Old Mountague.

Mount.
Upon thy Duty, Romeo, make my Ear
No more a Stranger to thy sickly Thoughts;
But, do not let me think, what much I dread,
That the young callow Chit, whom I once deign'd,
To ask of Capulet, Romeo, for thy Bed,
Has caught thy Eye; and, thro' thy Eye, thy Heart:
No, Juliet is not for thee.—Sighs thou, Boy?
At that, unlucky Name, thou changest Colour;
Thy Looks fix'd, as if thy Fate had seiz'd thee.

Rom.
Why nam'd you Juliet? Would she had ne'er been born,
Or any one but Capulet had got her!

Mount.
Forget her, Sir, if you regard my Blessing.

Rom.
Forget her! Oh! she has Beauty might ensnare
A Conqueror's Soul, and make him leave his Crown
At random, to be shuffled for by Slaves.
Oh! Juliet, there is Musick in thy Name,
That soft'ning me to Infant Tenderness,
Makes my Heart spring, like the first Leaps of Life.

Mount.
Then, thou art lost; if thou'rt a Man, my Son,
If thou hast Virtue in thee, or can'st prize
Thy Father's Honour, scorn her like a Slave:
Hell! love her! Damn her! She's a Capulet.
Learn then to hate her.

Rom.
'Tis impossible.
Who can behold, and hate her? Is she not
As harmless as the Turtles of the Woods?
Fair as the Summer Beauty of the Fields?
As op'ning Flow'rs untainted yet with Winds?
The Pride of Nature, and the Joy of Sense?
Why first did you bewitch me else to Weakness?
When from the Vespers as we came together,
And as by her's our Chariot drove along,
These were your Words: That, Romeo, that is she,
That must give Happiness to thee, and me.
Confirming in thy Arms the wish'd for Peace
Betwixt their ancient Family and mine.

Mount.
Then she was charming.

Rom.
Oh! I found her so.
I look'd and gaz'd, and never miss'd my Heart,
It fled so pleasingly away: But now,
My Soul is all fair Juliet's: Now she's fix'd
Firm in my Heart, by secret Vows made there;
Th'indelible Records of faithful Love.
You'd have me hate her. Can my Nature change
Create me o'er again—and I may be
That haughty Master of myself you'd have me

But as I am, the Slave of strong Desires,
That keep me struggling under; tho' I see,
The hopeless State of my unhappy Love
With Torment; like a stubborn Slave that lies
Chain'd to the Floor, stretch'd helpless on his Back,
I look to Liberty, and break my Heart.

Mount.
No more, fond Boy, I'll have her nam'd no more.
When next thou name her, let it be with Infamy:
Tell me she has whor'd, or fled her Father's House,
With some coarse Slave, t' a secret Cell of Lust;
And then, I'll bless thee— [Exit Mountague, and Benvolio.

Rom.
I shall obey. Saints from your Skies look down,
And find like me one wretched, if you can.
No, I will speak that hateful Name no more,
But be as curs'd as he can wish his Son. [Exit.

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