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,
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 brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,

Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Mon-
tague, and Benvolio.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
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,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:

94. mistemper'd, tempered, hardened, to an ill end.

109. Free-town, 'Villa Franca'

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.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him
to-day?

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Ben. (Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun

120

Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,) 2nd speech

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:

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.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest 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,

127. drave. Q2 has drive (i.e. driv), a current form of the past tense, which Shakespeare may have written.

133. affections, inclinations.

130

140

134. Benvolio sought the least frequented places. This verse, given in Q2, is replaced in most modern editions by one from Q: 'That most are busied when they're most alone.'

Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn 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.

3rd

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 160
We would as willingly give cure as know.

Enter ROMEO.

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.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.

Rom.

Ben. But new struck nine.

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.

159. sun; Theobald's emendation of Qq Ff 'same."

1

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 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!
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.

180

At thy good heart's oppression.-190

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 made with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

176. in proof, in actual ex-
perience.

183. created; so Qq Ff. The form

create (Q1 F2-4) is probably due to the Q, editor's desire for a (quite gratuitous) rhyme.

191. Why, such is love's transgression. [The short line playfully caps Benvolio's. L.] Mommsen conjectured, 'Why such is Benvolio, such is,' etc.

196. made; so Qq Ff. Most modern edd. adopt, with Pope, 'raised' from Q. But 'made' (besides its far better authority) is more in keeping with the theory to which the line alludes, that the sighs of love as they rose (did not raise but) became vapour or 'smoke.'

197. purged, i.e. from the fumes of sighs. Cf. He shall throughly purge [i.e. fan] his floor.'

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 urged to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.
Rom. A right good mark-man! 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 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. Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,

205. sadness, seriousness.

208. Bid a sick man, etc.; so Q1 Q2 Q3 F have a sicke man in sadness makes,' etc.