For this time, all the rest depart away. 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 prepared; Which, as he breathed 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. L. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him today? Right glad I am 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 sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's 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, That most are busied when they are most alone, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. 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-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw Black and portentous must this humor prove, Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? 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. 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 denied. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Ro. Ben. But new struck nine. Ro. Is the day so young? Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Ro. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. Ben. In love? Ro. Out Ben. Of love? Ro. Out of her favor, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Ro. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways 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: 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. Ro. Good heart, at what? Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. At thy good heart's oppression. Ro. Why, such is love's transgression.1 Griefs of my own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Ben. [going. Soft; I will go along; love. 1 i. e. such is the consequence of unskilful and mistaken kindness. 2 Seriously. SHAK. XIII. M Ben. But sadly tell me, who. Groan? why, no; Ro. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.— Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill !— In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. Ro. A right good marksman!—and she 's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ro. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starved with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, Ben. Be ruled by me; forget to think of her. |