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And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow, she 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-seducing gold.
0, she is rich in beauty ; only poor,
That when she dies, with der dies Beauty's Store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live

Rom. She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too' fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair ;
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be ruld by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ;
Examine other Beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way
To call hers (exquisite) in question more ;
Those happy masks, that kils fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft.
Shew me a mistress, that is passing fair;
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass’d that passing fair ?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ber. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant,
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reck’ning are you Both, And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long :


But now, my lord, what say you to my Suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before :
My child is yet a Itranger in the world,
She hath not seen the Change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers 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 soon marr'd are those so early made: The earth hach swallow'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 consent is but a part ; If she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent, and fair according voice : This night, I hold an old-accustom'd Feait, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven's light. Such comfort as do lufty young men feel, When well-appareld April on the heel Of limping Winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female-buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be : Which on more view of many, mine, being one, May stand in number, tho' in reck’ning none. Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about, Through fair Verona; find those persons out, Whose names are written there ; and to them say, 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 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 lefsen'd by another's Anguish:
Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning;

One desperate grief cure' with another's Languish:
Take thou some 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 shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipt and tormented: and- -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 misery.
Ser. Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: but,

read any thing you see?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye say honestly, reft you merry,
Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.

(He reads the letter.
Ignior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count

Anselm 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 Rosaline; Livia ; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and she lively Helena. A fair assembly; whither should they come? (2)

I pray, Can you

(2) A fair Asembly: Whither foorld they come ?
Serv. vp.
Rom. Wbither? to Supper?

Serv. To our House.] Romeo had read over the Lift of invited Guests; but he must be a Prophet, to know they were invited to Supper. This comes much more aptly from the Servant's Answer, thaa Romeo's Questions and must undoubredly be placed to him,

Mr. Warburton

Ser. Up.
Rom. Whither?
Ser. To supper, to our house.
Rom. Whole house ?
Ser. My master's.
Rom. Indeed, I fould have askt you that before.

Ser. 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. Reft you merry.

[Exit. Ben. At this fame antient Feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'it; With all th' admired beauties of Verona. Go thither, and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains fuch falsehoods, then turn tears to fires ! And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,

Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my lovel th' all-seeing Sun
Ne'er faw her match, fince first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none else being by:
Her self pois'd with her self, in either eye;
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your Lady-love against some other maid, (3)
That I will shew you, shining at this feast ;
And she will shew scant well, that now shews bet.

Rom. I'll go along, no such fight to be thewn; Bat to rejoice in fplendor of mine own, [Exeunt,

let there be weigh'd Tour Lady's Love against some other Maid.) But the Compaa rison was not betwixt the Love that Romeo's Mistress paid him, and the Person of any other young Woman: but betwixt Romea's Mistress herself, and some other that hould be match'd againd her. The Poet therefore must certainly have wrote:

Tour Lady-love against some other Maid.
So the Comparison Aands right, and sensibly,


SCEN E changes to Capulet's House.


Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse. La. Cap.

URSE, where's my daughter? call her

forth to me. Nurse. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years old) I bade her come; what, lamb,- what, lady-bird, God forbid !where's this girl ? 'what, Juliet?

Enter Juliet.
Jul. How now, who calls ?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here, what is your will ?

La, Cap. This is the matter Nurse, give leave a while, we must talk in secret ; Nurse, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel : thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four ;) she's 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 fe (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 fall she be fourteen, that shall she, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years, and she was wean'd; I never shall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood to my dug, fitting 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 worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-house 'twas no need, I trow, to bid


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