Enter Chorus, ^note as Prologue14Q1386.
Two housholds, both alike in dignity,
  in fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
from ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
  where civil blood makes civil hands unclean:
from forth the fatal loins of these two foes
  a pair of star-crost lovers take their life;
whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
  do ^note, with their death, bury their parents' strife:
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
  and the continuance of their parents' rage,
which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
  is now the two hours' traffick of our stage;
the which if you with patient ears attend,
what here ^note shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. Exit.

SCENE I. A publick Place. Enter two Servants14Q1387 of Capulet, oddly arm'd.

1. C.

Gregory, o' my ^note word, we'll not carry coals.

2. C.

No, for then we should be colliers.

1. C.

I mean, an we ^note be in choler, we'll draw.

2. C.

Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o'th' collar ^note.

1. C.

I strike quickly, being mov'd.

2. C.

But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike.

1. C.

A dog of the house of Mountague moves me.

2. C.

To move, is—to stir; and to be valiant, is—to stand to it ^note: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou run'st away.

1. C.

A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Mountague's.

2. C.

That shews thee a ^note weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

1. C.

True ^note; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Mountague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

2. C.

The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

1. C.

'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with ^note the maids; I will cut ^note off their heads.

2. C.

The heads of the maids?

1. C.

Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads ^note; take it in what sense thou wilt.

2. C.

They must take it in ^note sense, that feel it.

1. C.

Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh.

2. C.

'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou had'st, thou

had'st been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of the Mountagues ^note.

1. C.

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

2. C.

How? turn thy back, and run?

1. C.

Fear me not.

2. C.

No, marry; I fear thee!

1. C.

Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

2. C.

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

1. C.

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

1. M.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

1. C.

I do bite my thumb, sir.

1. M.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

&clquo;1. C.

&clquo;Is the law of our side, if I say—ay?&crquo;

&clquo;2. C.

&clquo;No.&crquo;

1. C.

No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

2. C.

Do you quarrel, sir?

1. M.

Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

1. C.

If ^note you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

1. M.

No better.

1. C.

Well, sir.

&clquo;2. C.

&clquo;Say—better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.&crquo;

1. C.

Yes, better, sir ^note.

1. M.

You lie.

1. C.

Draw, if you be men.—Gregory, remember thy swashing ^note blow.

Ben.
Part, fools, [beating down their Weapons] put up your swords;
You know not what you do. Enter Tybalt, with his Sword drawn.

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, drawn, ^note and talk of peace? I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee:
Have at thee ^note, coward. [assailing him. Enter divers, of both Houses, and join the Fray: then Enter, to part them, Citizens, and Peace-officers, with Clubs, &c.

Off.
Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! down with the Mountagues! Enter Capulet, in his Gown; his Lady following.

Cap.
What noise is this?—Give me my long sword, ho!

L. C.
A crutch, a crutch ^note; Why call you for a sword?

Cap.
My sword, I say!—old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter Mountague, and his Lady.

Mou.
Thou villain, Capulet,—Hold me not, let me go.

L. M.
Thou shalt not stir one foot ^note to seek a foe. Enter Prince, and Attendants.

Pri.
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 ^note bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground, [Fray ceases.
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.—
Three civil brawls, ^note bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made ^note Verona's ^note ancient citizens
Cast-by their grave beseeming ornaments ^note
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your ^note canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace ^note.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Mountague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther ^note pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town14Q1388, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. [Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, and Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Servants, &c.

Mou.
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 swong about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts ^note and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,

'Till the prince came, who parted either part.

L. M.
O, where is Romeo!—saw you him to-day?—
Right glad I am ^note, he was not at this fray.

Ben.
Madam, an hour before the worship'd sun
Peer'd forth the ^note golden window of the east,
A troubl'd mind drave ^note me to walk abroad;
Where—underneath the grove of sycamour ^note,
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 then most sought where most might not be found, ^note
Being one too many by my weary self,—
Pursu'd my humour, ^note not pursuing his, ^note
And gladly shun'd who gladly fled from me.

Mou.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
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, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous ^note must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

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

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

Mou.
Both by myself, and many other ^note friends:

But he, his own ^note 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,
Or dedicate his beauty to the same. ^note
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know. Enter Romeo, at a Distance.

Ben.
See, where he comes: So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mou.
I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift.—Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt Mountague, and Lady.

Ben.
Good morrow, cousin.

Rom.
Is the day so young?

Ben.
But new strook nine.

Rom.
Ay 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 muffl'd still,
Should, without eyes, see path-ways to his will ^note!
Where shall we dine?—Oh 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 created ^note!
O heavy lightness, serious vanity,
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming ^note 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 ^note lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd,
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke, made with ^note the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears ^note:
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;
An 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.
Tell me in sadness, who is ^note that you love?

Rom.
What, shall I groan, and tell thee?

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

Rom.
Bid ^note a sick man in sadness ^note make ^note his will:—

O word ^note ill urg'd to one that is so ill!—
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben.
I aim'd so near, ^note when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom.
A right good marks-man ^note; And she's fair I love.

Ben.
A right fair mark, fair coz', is soonest hit.

Rom.
Well, in ^note 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 ^note.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide ^note the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope ^note her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when she dies, with her dies beauty's store ^note.

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

Rom.
She hath, and in that sparing makes ^note huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too ^note 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:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put ^note us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strooken ^note 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 SCENE II. A Street. Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.

Cap.
And ^note Mountague ^note 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,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par.
Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap.
And too soon mar'd are those so early made:
The ^note earth hath ^note swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is ^note the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree ^note, 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 light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds ^note shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be;
On which ^note more ^note view of many14Q1389, mine, being one,
May ^note 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 &dagger2; there; and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt Capulet, and Paris.

Ser.

Find them out, whose names are written here: It is written—that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the taylor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons out, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here ^note writ. I must to the learned:—In good time.