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Ben. It was : what sadnes lengthens Romeos houres ?
Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short.
Ben. In loue.
Ben. Of loue.
Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue.
Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrandous and rough in proofe.
Romeo. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes, see pathwaies to his will :
Where shall we dine ? O me, what fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all :
Heres much to doe with hate, but more with loue,
Why then O brawling loue, o louing hate,
O any thing of nothing first created :
O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,
Milhapen Chaos of welfeeing formes,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fier, ficke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is.
This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this,
Doest thou not laugh?
Ben. No coze, I rather weepe.
Rom. Good heart at what?
Ben. At thy good harts oppression.
Romeo. Why such is loues transgression.
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preaft,
With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,
Doth ad more griefe, to too much of mine owne.
Loue is a smoke made with the fume of sighes,
Being purgd, a fire sparkling in louers eyes, ,
Being vext, a fea nourisht with louing teares,
What is it else? A madnesle, most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet :
Farewell my coze.
Ben. Soft I will goe along.
And if you leaue me so, you doe me wrong.
Rom. Tut I haue lost my felfe, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, hees some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue ?
Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee ?
Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who.
Rom. A* ficke man in sadnefle makes this will:
A word ill vrgd to one that is so ill :
In sadnesse cozin, I do loue a woman.
Ben. I aymd so neare, when I supposde you lou’d.
Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue.
Ben. A right faire marke faire coze is soonest hit.
Romeo. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit
With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:
And in strong proofe of chastitie well armd,
From loues weake childish bow she liues vncharmd.
Shee will not stay the fiege of louing tearmes,
Nor bide th' incounter of affailing eyes.
Nor ope her lap to fainct-seducing gold,
O lhe is rich in beautie, onely poore,
That when she dies, with beautie dies her store.
Bon. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chaft?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing, make huge walt :
For beauty steru'd with her seuerity,
Cuts beauty off from all posteritie.
She is too faire, too wise, wisely too faire,
To merit blille by making me dispaire :
She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow,
Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now.
Ben. Be rulde by me, forget to thinke of her.
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke.
Ro. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes, Examine other beauties.
Ro. Tis the way to call hers (exquisit) in question more, These happy maskes that kisse faire ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire : He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-light lost, Shew me a mistresse that is passing faire, What doth her beauty serue but as a note, Where I may read who past that passing faire : Farewell thou canst not teach me to forget,
Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, countie Paris, and the Clowne.
Cap. Monntague + is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and tis not hard I thinke,
For men so old as wee to keepe the peace.
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
And pittie tis you liu'd at ods so long :
But now my lord, what say you to my sute ?
Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before,
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares,
Let two more summers wither in their pride
Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a bride.
Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made.
Capu. And too soone mard are those so early made :
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but the,
Shees * the hopefull lady of my earth,
But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent, is but a part,
And the agree, within her scope of choise
Lyes my confent, and faire according voice:
This night I hold, an old accustomd feast,
Whereto I haue inuited many a guest,
Such as I loue, and you among the store,
One more, most welcome makes
At my poore house, looke to behold this night,
Earth treading starres, that make darke heauen light,
Such comfort as do lufty young men feele,
When well appareld Aprill on the heele
Of limping winter treads, euen such delight
Among fresh fennell buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house, heare all, all see :
And like her most, whose merit moft shall be :
Which one + more veiw of many, mine being one,
May stand in number though in reckning none.
Come goe with me, goe firrah trudge about,
Through faire Verona, find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay,
Exit. Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Here it is written, that the shoo-maker should meddle with his yard, and the tayler with his last, the fisher with his pensill, and the painter with his nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ, (I must to the learned) in good time
Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.
Ben. Tut man one fire burnes out an others burning,
One paine is lesned by an others anguish:
Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning :
One desperate greefe, cures with an others languish :
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poyson'of the old wil die.
Romeo. Your plantan leafe is excellent for that.
Ben. For what I pray thee?
Romeo. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad ? :
Rom. Not mad but bound more then a mad man is :
Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,
Whipt and tormented : and godden good fellow,
Ser. Godgigoden, I pray fir can you read ?
Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie.
Ser. Perhaps you haue learned it without booke :
But I pray can you read any thing you see?
Rom. I if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye fay honestly, rest you merry.
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.
Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughters: county An-
felme and his beautious fifters : the ladie widdow of Vtruuio,
seigneur Placentio, and his louely neeces : Mercutio and his bro-
ther Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters : my
faire neece Rosaline, Liuia, feigneur Valentio, and his cofen
Tybalt : Lucio and the liuely Helena.
A faire assembly, whither should they come ?
Ro. Whither to supper.
Ser. To our house.
Ro. Whose house?
Ser. My maisters.
Ro. Indeede I should haue askt you that before.
Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Moun