Purfued my humour, not pursuing him ;
And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.

MON. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-cheering fun
Should, in the furthest east, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy fon,
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 muft this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

BEN. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MON. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
BEN. Have you importun'd him by any means?
MON. Both by myself, and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,

Is to himself, I will not fay, how true,
But to himself fo fecret and so close,
So far from founding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,

Ere he can spread his fweet leaves to the air,

Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,

We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

BEN. See, where he comes. So please you, ftep afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

MON. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

[Exeunt.

BEN. Good-morrow, coufin.

ROM. Is the day so young?

BEN. But new ftruck nine.

Roм. Ah me, fad hours feem long!

-Was that my father that went hence fo faft?

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, fo gentle in his view,
Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled ftill,
Should without eyes fee 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.

[Striking his breast,

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!

Oh, any thing of nothing first create !

O heavy lightness! serious vanity!

Mif-shapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health?

Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Doft thou not laugh?

BEN. No, coz, I rather weep,

ROм. Good heart, at what?

BEN. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

ROM. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breaft; Which thou wilt propagate, to have them pref

With more of thine; this love that thou hast fhewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a fmoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,

Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lover's eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewel, my cousin.

BEN. Soft, I'll go along.

And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
ROM. Tut, I have loft myself, I am not here:
This is not Romeo, he's fome other where.

BEN. Tell me in sadness who she is you love?
Roм. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?

BEN. Groan? why no; but fadly tell me, who.
ROM. Bid a fick man in fadness make his will?
O word, ill urg'd to one that is fo ill!

In fadness, coufin, I do love a woman.

[Going.

BEN. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Roм. A right good marks-man ;--and fhe's fair, I love.
BEN. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss; fhe'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow; the hath Dian's wit:

And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,

From love's weak childish bow, fhe lives unharm’d.
She will not ftay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.

O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

BEN. Then he hath sworn, that she will still live chaste ? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge wafte

For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity,

Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.

She is too fair, too wife, too wifely fair,
To merit blits by making me despair;

She hath forfworn 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 fhould forget to think.
BEN. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

ROM. 'Tis the way

To call her's exquifite in question more ;
Thofe happy masks, that kifs fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight lost.
Shew me a mistress, that is paffing fair,
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note;

Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou can't not teach me to forget.

BEN. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt. [Exeunt.

SCENE III, Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.

CAP. And Montague is bound as well as I,

In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I think,
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.
PAR. Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds fo long.
But now, my lord, what fay you to my fuit?
CAP. But faying o'er what I have said before;
My child is yet a stranger in the world,

She hath not feen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
VOL. VI.

C c

Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

PAR. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made.
CAP. And too soon marr'd are thofe fo early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but the :
She is the hopeful lady of my earth,

But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent is but a part;
If the agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my confent, 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, moft welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven's light.
Such comfort as do lufty young men feel,
When well apparel❜d April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, ev'n fuch delight
Among fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her most, whose merit moft fhall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May ftand in number, tho' in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find these persons out,
Whose names are written there; and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris, SERV. Find them out, whofe names are written here ? -It is written, that the fhoemaker fhould meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his laft, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am fent to find