SCENE I.-A public Place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with swords and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we 'll not carry coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we 'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live draw your neck out of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves

me.

Gre. To move, is to stir; and to be valiant, is

to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shews thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. "Tis all one; I will shew myself a tyrant:

Enter several Partisans of both houses, who join the fray: then enter Citizens, with clubs.

1st Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans! 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 longsword, ho!

Lady C. 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.

Lady M. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stainéd 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!
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your movéd Prince.—
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankered with peace, to part your cankered 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 farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPULET, LADY
CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Servants.
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, hissed him in scorn: 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 M. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to-day?

Right glad am I he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipped

sun

Peered 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:
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 are most alone,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunned 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 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,
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 impórtuned 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 trueBut to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery,

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 trangression.
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
shewn

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

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 aimed so near when I supposed you loved. Rom. A right good marksman!--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 armed,
From love's weak childish bow she lives un-
harmed.

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:

For beauty, starved 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 ruled 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.

[Going.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,