Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare [best fantasy books to read TXT] 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
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to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
110
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
Lady Montague. O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Benvolio. Madam, 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,
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So early walking did I see your son.
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,
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.
Montague. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
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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,
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Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Benvolio. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Montague. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Benvolio. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Montague. 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
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Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Enter Romeo
Benvolio. See, where he comes! So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance or be much denied.
Montague. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift.—Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.
Benvolio. Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo. Is the day so young?
Benvolio. But new struck nine.
Romeo. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
160
Benvolio. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Romeo. Not having that which, having, makes them short.
Benvolio. In love?
Romeo. Out—
Benvolio. Of love?
Romeo. Out of her favour where I am in love.
Benvolio. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Romeo. 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?
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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 any thing, of nothing first created!
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?
180
Benvolio. No, coz, I rather weep.
Romeo. Good heart, at what?
Benvolio. At thy good heart's oppression.
Romeo. 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.
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What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Benvolio. Soft! I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Romeo. Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Benvolio. Tell me in sadness who is that you love.
Romeo. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Benvolio. Groan! why, no,
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will;
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Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Benvolio. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Romeo. A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.
Benvolio. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Romeo. 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,
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Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
O, she is rich in beauty! only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Benvolio. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
Romeo. 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;
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She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
Benvolio. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Romeo. O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Benvolio. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Romeo. 'Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
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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.
Benvolio. I'll pay that doctrine or else die in debt. Exeunt.
Scene II.
A Street
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant
Capulet. 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.
Paris. 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?
Capulet. 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.
10
Let two more summers wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Paris. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Capulet. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath 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;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
20
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
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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 reckoning none.
Come, go with me.—[To Servant, giving 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.
Servant. 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 40
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
Benvolio. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
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Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Romeo. Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that.
Benvolio. For what, I pray thee?
Romeo. For your broken shin.
Benvolio. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Romeo. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented and—Good-den, good fellow.
Servant. God gi' good-den.—I pray, sir, can you
read?
Romeo. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60
Servant. Perhaps you have learned it without book;
but, I pray, can you read any thing
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