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!
Oh, any thing of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness! ferious vanity!

Mif-fhapen 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.
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 breaft;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine; this love, that thou haft fhewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preferving sweet:
Farewel, my coufin.

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

And if

[Going.

you leave me fo, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have loft my felf, I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's fome other where. Ben. Tell me in fadness, who fhe 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 Rom. A right good marks-mán; love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. But, in that hit, you mifs; fhe'll not be hit

you lov'd.

and fhe's fair, I

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

And

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

From love's weak childish bow, fhe 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.
O, fhe is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when the dies, with der dies Beauty's Store.

Ben. Then the hath fworn, that she will still live chafte?

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

For beauty, ftarv'd with her feverity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.

She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs 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 hers (exquifite) in queftion 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 loft.
Shew me a mistress, that is paffing fair;
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt.
[Exeunt.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
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

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 stranger in the world,

She hath not seen 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 the 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, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor houfe, look to behold this night
Earth-treading ftars 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, even fuch delight
Among fresh female-buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her most, whose merit most shall 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 thofe perfons out,
Whofe names are written there; and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Ser. Find them out, whose names are written here?It is written, that the Shoe maker. 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 those Perfons, whose names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I muft to the Learned. In good time, Enter

Enter Benvolio and Roméo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguish: Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning ; One defperate grief cure with another's Languish: Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poyfon of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for That.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken fhin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is:

Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented: and

low.

Good-e'en, good fel-
[To the Servant.
Ser. God gi' good e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.

Ser. Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: but,
I pray,

Can

you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry.-

Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.

[He reads the letter.

ST Sem Ignior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count Anfelm and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

A fair affembly; whither should they come ? (2)

(2) A fair Assembly: Whither should they come?

Serv. Up.

'Rom. Whither? to Supper?

Serv. To our House.] Romeo had read over the Lift of invited Guefts; but he must be a Prophet, to know they were invited to Supper. This comes much more aptly from the Servant's Anfwer, than Romeo's Question; and muft undoubtedly be placed to him, Mr. Warburton.

Ser. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Ser. To fupper, to our house.

Rom. Whofe house?

Ser. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have askt you that before.
Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is
the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the House of
Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Reft

you merry..

Ben. At this fame antient Feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fo lov'ft;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,

[Exit.

Compare her face with fome that I fhall fhow,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfehoods, then turn tears to fires!
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing Sun
Ne'er faw her match, fince firft the world begun.
Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none else being by;
Her felf pois'd with her felf, in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your Lady-love against fome other maid, (3)
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feast;
And fhe will fhew fcant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be shewn ;
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.

(3)

let there be weigh'd

[Exeunt

Tour Lady's Love against Some other Maid.] But the Compatifon was not betwixt the Love that Romeo's Miftrefs paid him, and the Perfon of any other young Woman: but betwixt Romeo's Miftrefs herself, and fome other that should be match'd against her. The Poet therefore muft certainly have wrote; Tour Lady-love against fome other Maid. So the Comparison ftands right, and fenfibly.

SCENE