might Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and Lady CAPULET. Capulet. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! Lady Capulet. A crutch, a crutch! - Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say! - Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and Lady MONTAGUE. Montague. Thou villain Capulet! · Hold me not; let me go.. Lady Montague. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince, with his train. Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear? - what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate. You, Capulet, shall go along with me; [Exeunt Prince and Attendants; CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Ser vants. 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 prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd 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. La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?· day? saw you him to 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; And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, Black and portentous must this humour prove, Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn 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 say, how true, But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, 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 sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know. Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much deni'd. Enter ROMEO. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Ben. But new struck nine. 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? Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will: Where shall we dine? here? O me! What fray was Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! 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? Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shewn, Ben. [Going. Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. But sadly tell me, who. Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will; A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good mark-man!· - And she's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit; And in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From Love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. |