Ben. Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Enter TYBALT. Tyb. What! art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward. [They fight. Enter several persons of both Houses, who join the Fray; then enter Citizens, with Clubs or Partisans. 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET, in his Gown; and Lady CAPUlet. Cap. What noise is this? - Give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say! - Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not; let me go. Enter Prince, with his Train. Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear? - what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, And made Verona's ancient citizens Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate. Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace: [Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; CAPULET, Lady Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, La. Mon. O! where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought, where most might not be found, Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, Should in the farthest east begin to draw Black and portentous must this humour prove, Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Is to himself - I will not say, how true So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the same. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure, as know. Enter ROMEO, at a distance. Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, Come, Madam, let's away. To hear true shrift. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Ben. But new struck nine. Is the day so young? Ah me! sad hours seem long. 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. 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, Should without eyes see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? - O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: O any thing, of nothing first created! 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? At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Good heart, at what? Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Ben. Soft, I will go along: An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here; Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. But sadly tell me, who. [Going. Groan! why, no; Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will; A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. And she 's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she 'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit; And in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 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, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: 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 should forget to think. Examine other beauties. |