On pain of torture, from those bloody hands By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 90 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate : 100 [Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Montague, Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? And yours close fighting ere I did approach: ΙΙΟ La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, Towards him I made; but he was ware of me, I, measuring his affections by my own, 120 Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, 130 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you importuned him by any means ? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends : 140 But he, his own affections' counsellor, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 150 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, Enter Romeo. Ben. See, where he comes: so please you step aside, Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Ben. But new struck nine. Rom. Come, madam, let's away. Is the day so young? Ay me! sad hours seem long. 161 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 short. Ben. In love? Rom. Out Ben. Of love? 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, 170 Should without eyes see pathways to his will! Complet Ben. 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! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. Ben. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; 180 190 With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Soft! I will go along: This is not Romeo, he's some other where. But sadly tell me who. Groan! why, no; 200 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will. With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit, 211 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, Rom. Examine other beauties. "Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more: 220 These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, |