Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel,

On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.—
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By you, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our town:
If ever you affright our streets again,

Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.—
For this time all the rest depart away:

You, Capulet, (To CAP. l.) shall go along with

me.

And, Montague, (To Mon. r.) come you this af

ternoon,

To know our further pleasure in this case.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Flourish.—Exeunt all but Montague and
Benvolio l.

Mon. (r. C.) Who set this ancient quarrel new

abroach?

Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. (l. c.) Here were the servants of our ad

versary,

And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach :
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt with his sword prepared ;
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds :
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came.

Mon. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today?

Right glad I am, he was not at this brawl.

Ben. My lord, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where—underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's side,— So early walking did I see your son :

Mistemper'd—angry.

Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood;

I, measuring his affections by my own,—
That most are busied when they 're most alone,—
Pursued my humor, not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew; Black and portentous must this humor prove, Unless the counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor,

Is to himself—I will not say, how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
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 sun.

Ben. So please you, sir, Mercutio and myself
Are most near to him;—be it that our years,
Births, fortunes, studies, inclinations,

Measure the rule of his, l know not; but
Friendship still loves to sort him with his like;
We will attempt upon his privacy :

And could we learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Mon. (Going R.) Twill bind us to you: good Benvolio, go.

Ben. (Going L.) We'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

[Exeunt MONTAGUE L., BENVOLIO R.

SCENE II.—Another Street in Verona.

Enter CAPULET and PARIS R.

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

For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. (R.) Of honorable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis, you lived at odds so long.— But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. (L. c.) But saying o'er what I have said before,

My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of eighteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a wife.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but her:
But woo her, gentle Paris; get her heart;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent; so woo her, gentle Paris.
This night I hold an old accustum'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a friend,
Such as I love; and you, among the rest.

[Calls servant, and gives a paper. Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out. Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasures stay.— Once more, most welcome, Count: go in with me. [Exeunt R.

SCENE III.—A Wood near Verona.

ROMEO crosses through the wood, from U. E. L.

to U. E. R.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO L.

Mer. See, where he steals.—Told I you not, Benvolio,

That we should find this melancholy Cupid

Lock'd in some gloomy covert, under key

Of cautionary silence, with his arms

Threaded, like these cross boughs, in sorrow's knot?

Re-enter ROMEO R.

Ben. (C.) Good-morrow, cousin.

Rom. (R. C.) Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.

Rom. Ah, me! sad hours seem long.

Mer. (L.) Pr'y thee, what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

Ben. In love, meseems !

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. (R.) Where shall we dine?—O, me!— Cousin Benvolio,

What was the fray this morning with the Capulets? Yet tell me not; for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate but more with love :—
Love, heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well seeming forms!—
This love feel I; but such my froward fete,
That there I love, where most I ought to hate.

Dost thou not laugh, my friend? O, Juliet, Juliet !
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Mer. (Crossing to ROM.) Tell me, in sadness, who she is you love.

Rom. In sadness, then, I love a woman.

Mer. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. Rom. A right good marksman and she's fair I

love;

But knows not of my love; 'twas through my eyes The shaft empierced my heart; chance gave the wound

Which time can never heal: no star befriends me;
To each sad night succeeds a dismal morrow;
And still 'tis hopeless love, and endless sorrow.
Mer. Be ruled by me; forget to think of her.
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think.
Mer. By giving liberty unto thine eyes :
Take some new infection to thy heart,

In sadness—seriously.

And the rank poison of the old will die :
Examine other beauties.

Rom. He that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : Show me a mistress that is passing fair;— What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Rememb'ring me, who past that passing fair? Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. [Crosses to C. Mer. I warrant thee; if thou 'lt but stay to hear. To-night there is an ancient splendid feast

Kept by old Capulet, our enemy,

Where all the beauties of Verona meet.
Rom. At Capulet's?

Mer. (L. C.) At Capulet's, my friend :
Go there; and, with an 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 eyes
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires,
And burn the heretics! All-seeing Phoebus
Ne'er saw her match, since first his course began.
Mer. (C.) Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else
being by,

Herself poised with herself; but let be weigh'd
Your lady-love against some other fair,
And she will show scant well.

Rom. (R.) I will along, Mercutio.

Mer. 'Tis well: look to behold at this high feast Earth treading stars that make dim heaven's lights:

Hear all, see all, try all; and like her most,

That most shall merit thee.

Rom. My mind is changed :—

I will not go to-night.

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer. Ha, ha! a dream? [Running to ROMEO R.

O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.

[Returning to c.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes,

Scant—scarce.