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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!

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Rom. Alas, that love, whofe 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! ferious vanity!

Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright fmoke, 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.

Rom. 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 breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine, this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

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Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most difcreet,
A choaking gall, and a preferving fweet.
Farewel, my cousin,

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

[Going.

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

Ben. Tell me in fadnefs, who she is you love?
Rom. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will ?-
O word, ill urg'd to one that is fo ill!

In fadness, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marks-man ;-and she's fair, I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is fooneft hit. Rom. But, in that hit, you miss; fhe'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; the hath Dian's wit: And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow, the lives unharm'd. She will not stay the fiege of loving terms, Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold,

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O, fhe is rich in beauty; only poor

That when she dies, 7 with Beauty dies her Store. Ben. Then fhe hath fworn, that the will still live chafte ?

Rom. She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge
waste.

For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wife, too wifely fair,
To merit blifs by making me defpair;
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 hers exquifite in queftion more;
Those happy masks, that kiss fair ladies, brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft,
Shew me a miftrefs, that is paffing fair,
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a noté,
Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt.

[Exeunt.

7 with Beauty dies her Store.] nity, that her flere, or riches, can Mr. Theobald reads.

With her dies beauties ftore. and is followed by the two fucceeding editors. I have replaced the old reading, because I think it at least as plaufible as the correction. She is rich, fays he, in beauty, and only poor in being fubject to the lot of huma

be destroyed by death, who fhall, by the fame blow, put an end to beauty.

8 Rom. She bath, and in that Sparing, &c.] None of the following fpeeches of this fcene in the first edition of 1597. POPE. 9 too wifely fair,] Hanmer For, wifely too fair.

SCENE

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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 Suit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before;
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,

She hath not feen the Change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but she,
'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 fhe agree, within her fcope of choice
Lies my confent, and fair according voice :
This night, I hold an old-accuftom'd Feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the ftore,
One 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.

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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 see,

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

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[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

as much in an affembly of beautes, as young men feel in the month of April, is furely to waste found upon a very poor fentiment. I read,

Such comfort as do lufty yeomen feel.

You shall feel from the fight and
converfation of those ladies, fuch
hopes of happiness and fuch
pleasure, as the farmer receives
from the fpring, when the plenty
of the year begins, and the prof-
pect of the harvest fills him with
delight.

4 Which on more view of many,
mine, being one,
May fand in number, tho' in

reck'ning none] The first of thefe lines I do not understand. The old folio gives no help; the paffage is there, Which one mire view. I can offer nothing bet

ter than this:

Within your view of many.
nine being one,
May and in number, &c.

Sery.

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