SCENE II.
A Street.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap.
But Montague is bound1 note 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 reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord2 note, 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 11Q09203 note.
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth4 note:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice5 note.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
-- 385 --
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 buds6 note 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 many7 note, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning 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,
[Giving a Paper.
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.
Serv.
Find them out, whose names are written here8 note?
It is written, that the shoemaker 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 holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
-- 386 --
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom.
Your plantain leaf is excellent for that9 note.
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 madman is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and—Good-den, good fellow.
Serv.
God gi' good den.—I pray, sir, can you read?
Rom.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv.
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.
Serv.
Ye say honestly. Rest you merry.
Rom.
Stay, fellow; I can read.
[Reads.
“Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters;
County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady
widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely
nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; mine
uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece
Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin
Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.”
A fair assembly; whither should they come?
Serv.
Up.
Rom.
Whither? to supper?
Serv.
To our house.
Rom.
Whose house?
Serv.
My master's.
Rom.
Indeed, I should have asked you that before.
Serv.
Now, I'll tell you without asking. My master
is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house
-- 387 --
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine1 note.
Rest you merry.
[Exit.
Ben.
At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st,
With all the 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 falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben.
Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye;
But in those crystal scales2 note, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid,
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best3 note.
Rom.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
