id="id00122">  Rom. Ay 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.

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,
    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.
    Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
    O anything, of nothing first create!
    O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
    Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
    Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
    Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is
    This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
    Dost thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

  Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
    Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
    Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
    With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
    Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
    Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
    Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
    Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
    What is it else? A madness most discreet,
    A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
    Farewell, my coz.

  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:
    This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?

Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?

  Ben. Groan? Why, no;
    But sadly tell me who.

  Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.
    Ah, 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.

Rom. A right good markman! 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,
    Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
    Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
    O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
    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.
    She hath forsworn 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 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.
    These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
    Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair.
    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
    Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
    Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt.

Scene II. A Street.

Enter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.

  Cap. But 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. Of honourable reckoning 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 stranger 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 she are happy mothers made.

  Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
    The earth hath swallowed 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.
    An she agree, within her scope of choice
    Lies my consent and fair according voice.
    This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
    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 light.
    Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
    When well apparell'd 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, though in reck'ning none.
    Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him 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 pleasure stay-
                                     Exeunt [Capulet and Paris].

Serv. Find them out whose names are written here? It is written that the shoemaker 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 lessoned by another's anguish;
    Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
    One