Perhaps, the great revenge he cannot woorke by strength, By suttel sleight (my honour staynd) he hopes to woorke at length. So shall I seeke to find my fathers foe, his game; So (I defylde) Report shall take her trompe of blacke defame, Her troblesom thought, as wholly vaine, y-bred of fond distrust. Although I rashely spake before, in no wise can it bee, That where such perfet shape with pleasant bewty restes, gestes. Sage writers say, the thoughts are dwelling in the eyne; So that I see he loveth me:-shall I then be unkynd? His faces rosy hew I saw full oft to seeke; And straight again it flashed foorth, and spread in eyther cheeke. His fixed heavenly eyne that through me quyte did perce His thoughts unto my hart, my thoughts thei semed to rehearce. The trimbling of his joynts, and eke his cooler waxen pale? But Natures hand, when all deceyte was banishd out of place. These doo suffice; and stedfast I will love and serve him still So that he mynde to make of me his lawful wedded wyfe. Oh how we can perswade ourself to what we like! Kept in her heart by striving thoughts, when every shining starre Where restles he a thousand thoughts had forged in his hed. His love that lookd for him there gan he straight espye. When so he comes, lookes after him till he be out of sight. That every pane and tooting hole the wily lover knew. From which, except he warely walke, men may his love descrye; Where she is wont to shew her heart by cheerfull frendly face. He doth keepe backe his forward foote from passing there by daye; And for the missing of his marke his greefe hath hym nye slaine. Her Romeus pleasant eyen I mean-is almost dead for greefe. Within her windowe, and anon the moone did shine so bright And now for joy she claps her handes, which erst for wo she wrang. Eke Romeus, when he sawe his long desyred sight, His moorning cloke of mone cast off, hath clad him with delight. Yet dare I say, of both that she rejoyced more : His care was great, hers twise as great was, all the time before; For whilst she knew not why he did himselfe absent, In douting both his health and life, his death she did lament. For love is fearful oft where is no cause of feare, And what love feares, that love laments, as though it chaunced weare. Of greater cause alway is greater woorke y-bred; While he nought douteth of her helth, she dreds lest he be ded. By happy hope of sight again he feedes his fainting hart. But eche of them alike dyd burne in equall flame, The wel-beloving knight and eke the wel-beloved dame. Now whilst with bitter teares her eyes as fountaines ronne, With whispering voice, y-broke with sobs, this is her tale begonne : "Oh Romeus, of your life too lavas sure you are, That in this place, and at this tyme, to hazard it you dare. Lyke lyons wylde, your tender partes asonder would they teare. With cruell hand my moorning hart would perce with bloudy knyfe. For you, myne own, once dead, what joy should I have heare? And eke my honor staynd, which I then lyfe do holde more deare." "Fayre lady myne, dame Juliet, my lyfe (quod hee) A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corps betake. And how I dread to loose the gayne which I do hope to win : But that in it you might I love, your honor, serve and please, In even ballance peysed are my life and eke my death. That sure there is no greefe so small, by which your mynd endures, But as you suffer payne, so I doo beare in part (Although it lessens not your greefe) the halfe of all your smart. But these thinges overpast, if of your health and myne You have respect, or pity ought my teer-y-weeping eyen, In few unfained woords your hidden mynd unfolde, That as I see your pleasant face, your heart I may beholde. In error shall you wander still, as you have done this while : If wedlocke be the ende and marke which your desyre hath found, Obedience set asyde, unto my parents dewe, The quarrel eke that long agone betwene our housholdes grewe, Both me and mine I will all whole to you betake, And following you where so you goe, my fathers house forsake. But if by wanton love and by unlawfull sute You thinke in rypest yeres to plucke my maidenhoods dainty frute, You are begylde; and now your Juliet you beseekes To cease your sute, and suffer her to live among her likes." Or, tyll they have enjoyd the like, the hearers hart can gesse *. He thankes the Gods, and from the heavens for vengeance down he cries, If he have other thought but as his Lady spake; And then his looke he toornd to her, and thus did answere make: 66 Since, lady, that you like to honor me so much As to accept me for your spouse, I yeeld myself for such. In true witnes whereof, because I must depart, Till that my deede do prove my woorde, I leave in pawne my hart. Tomorrow eke bestimes, before the sunne arise, To Fryer Lawrence will I wende, to learne his * sage advise. the HEARERS hart can gesse.] From these words it should seem that this poem was formerly sung or recited to casual passengers in the streets. See also p. 287, 1. 17: "If any man be here, whom love hath clad with care, "To him I speak; if thou wilt speed," &c. MALONE. In former days, when the faculty of reading was by no means so general as at present, it must have been no unfrequent practice for those who did not possess this accomplishment to gratify their curiosity by listening while some better educated person read aloud. It is, I think, scarcely probable, that a poem of the length of this Tragicall Hystory should be sung or recited in the streets: And Sir John Maundevile, at the close of his work, intreats "alle the Rederes and HERERES of his boke, zif it plese hem that thei wolde preyen to God," &c.-p. 383, 8vo. edit. 1727. By hereres of his boke he unquestionably intended hearers in the sense I have suggested. HOLT WHITE. He is my gostly syre, and oft he hath me taught What I should doe in things of waight, when I his ayde have sought. And at this self same houre, I plyte you here my faith, I will be here, if you think good, to tell you what he sayth.” That night, at lady Juliets hand, save pleasant woords alone. For he of Francis order was a fryer, as I reede. Not as the most was he, a grosse unlearned foole, But doctor of divinitie proceded he in schoole. The secrets eke he knew in Natures woorks that loorke; By magicks arte most men supposed that he could wonders woorke. Ne doth it ill beseeme devines those skils to know, If on no harmeful deede they do such skilfulnes bestow; For justly of no arte can men condemne the use, But right and reasons lore crye out agaynst the lewd abuse. The bounty of the fryer and wisdom hath so wonne The townes folks harts, that wel nigh all to fryer Lawrence ronne, To shrive themselfe; the olde, the young, the great and small; Of all he is beloved well, and honord much of all. And, for he did the rest in wisdom farre exceede, The prince by him (his counsell cravde) was holpe at time of neede. Betwixt the Capilets and him great frendship grew, A secret and assured frend unto the Montague. Lovd of this yong man more than any other geste, The fryer eke of Verone youth aye liked Romeus best; For whom he ever hath in time of his distres, As earst you heard, by skilful love found out his harmes redresse. To him is Romeus gonne, ne stayeth he till the morrowe; To him he painteth all his case, his passed joy and sorrow. And how that fyrst to talke with her him selfe he dyd ad vaunce; Their talke and change of lookes he gan to him declare, And how so fast by fayth and troth they both y-coupled are, That neyther hope of lyfe, nor dread of cruel death, Shall make him false his fayth to her, while lyfe shall lend him breath. And then with weping eyes he prayes his gostly syre To further and accomplish all their honest hartes desyre. A thousand doutes and moe in thold mans hed arose, A thousand daungers like to comme the old man doth disclose, |