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! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.— Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it pressed With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs! Being urged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. Ben. Soft, I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. [Going. Ben. Tell me in sadness, whom is she you love. But sadly tell me who. Groan? why, no; Rom. 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 aimed so near, when I supposed you loved. From love's weak, childish bow she lives unharmed. O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste? Rom. 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, She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow, Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. Examine other beauties. Rom. 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, SCENE II. A Street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Par. Of honorable reckoning are you both; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, And like her most, whose merit most shall be; Whose names are written there, [Gives a paper,] and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.-In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessened by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish. Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. Rom. Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that. Rom. For your broken skin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipped and tormented, and-Good e'en, good fellow. Serv. God gi' good e'en-I pray, sir, can you read? Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book. But, I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. [Reads. Seignior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Seignior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Seignior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly. [Gives back the note.] Whither should they come? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? Serv. To supper; to our house. Rom. Whose house? Serv. My master's. Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's [Exit. Compare her face with some that I shall show, One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun But in those crystal scales, let there be weighed And she shall scant show well, that now shows best. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room in Capulet's House. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth. to me. Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old, I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!· God forbid!—where's this girl? what, Juliet! La. Cap. This is the matter.-Nurse, give leave awhile, Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four.She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she-God rest all Christian souls!Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me. But, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was weaned,-I never shall forget it,Of all the days of the year, upon that day; For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua.Nay, I do bear a brain;-but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug, Shake, quoth the dove-house; 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years; |