Sam.

My naked Weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Greg.

How? turn thy back and run?

Sam.

Fear me not.

Greg.

No, marry: I fear thee.

Sam.

Let us take the Law of our sides: let them begin.

Greg.

I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.

Sam.

Nay, as they dare. I will bite my Thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

Abr.

Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?

Sam.

I do bite my Thumb, Sir.

Abr.

Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?

Sam.

Is the Law on our side, if I say ay?

Greg.

No.

Sam.

No, Sir, I do not bite my Thumb at you, Sir: but I bite my Thumb, Sir.

Greg.

Do you quarrel, Sir?

Abr.

Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam.

If you do, Sir, I am for you; I serve as good a Man as you.

Abr.

No better?

Sam.

Well, Sir.

Enter Benvolio.

Greg.

Say better: here comes one of my Master's Kinsmen.

Sam.

Yes, better.

Abr.

You Lie.

Sam.

Draw, if you be Men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.

Ben.

Part, Fools, put up your Swords, you know not what you do.

Tyb.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless Hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy Death.

Ben.
I do but keep the Peace; put up thy Sword,
Or manage it to part these Men with me.

Tyb.
What draw, and talk of Peace? I hate the word
As I hate Hell, all Mountagues and thee:
Have at thee, Coward. [Fight. Enter three or four Citizens with Clubs,

Offic.
Clubs, Bills, and Partisans! strike! beat them down,
Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gown, and Lady Capulet.

Cap.
What noise is this? Give me my long Sword, ho?

La. Cap.
A Crutch, a Crutch: why call you for a Sword?

Cap.
A Sword, I say: Old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his Blade in spight of me. Enter old Mountague and Lady Mountague.

Moun.
Thou Villain, Capulet—Hold me not, let me go.

La. Moun.
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 these bloody Hands
Throw your mistemper'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 Mountague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our Streets,
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming Ornaments,

To wield old Partisans, 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, Mountague, 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. Moun.
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, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his Sword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd Defiance to my Ears,
He swong 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. Moun.
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 forth the golden Window of the East,
A troubled Mind drave me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the Grove of Sycamour,
That Westward rooteth from this City side,
So early walking did I see you 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 then most sought, where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursued my Humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.

Moun.
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,
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?

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

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

Moun.
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,
E'er he can spread his sweet Leaves to the Air,
Or dedicate his Beauty to the same.
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.

Moun.
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 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!
O any thing of nothing first create:
O heavy Lightness, serious Vanity,
Mishapen 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 lye heavy in my Breast;
Which thou wilt propagate to have it 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 made of the fume of Sighs,
Being purg'd, a Fire sparkling in Lovers Eyes,
Being vext, a Sea nourish'd with loving Tears;
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking Gall, and a preserving Sweet:
Farewel, my Coz. [Going.

Ben.
Soft, I will go along.
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

Rom.
But I have lost my self, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben.
Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?

Rom.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?

Ben.
Groan? why no; but sadly tell me, who.

Rom.
A sick Man in good sadness makes 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.
Well 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 uncharm'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 Beauty dies her store.

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 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, 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 past 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.
Mountague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
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,
E'er 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:
Earth up 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,
And 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,
Once more, most welcome makes my number more:
At my poor House, look to behold this Night,
Earth-treading Stars that make dark Heaven light,
Such comfort as do lusty young Men feel,
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
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 one more view, of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though 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. [Ex. Cap. 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 writ, and can never find what Names the writing Person hath here writ, (I must to the Learned) in good time.