The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Iuliet, written firſt in Italian by Bandell, and nowe in Engliſhe by Ar. Br. In aedibus Richardi Tottelli. Cum Privilegio.
To the Reader.
THe God of all glorye created vniverſallye all creatures, to ſette forth hiſ prayſe, both thoſe whiche we eſteme profitable in vſe and pleaſure, and alſo thoſe, whiche we accompte noyſome, and lothſome. But principally he hath appointed man, the chiefeſt inſtrument of his honour, not onely, for miniſtryng matter thereof in man himſelf: but as well in gathering out of other, the occaſions of publiſhing Godſ goodnes, wiſdome, & power. And in like ſort, euerye dooyng of man hath by Goddes dyſpenſacion ſome thynge, whereby God may, and ought to be honored. So the good doynges of the good, & the euill actes of the wicked, the hapy ſucceſſe of the bleſſed, and the wofull procedinges of the miſerable, doe indiuers ſorte ſound one prayſe of God. And as eche flower yeldeth hony to the bee: ſo euery exaumple miniſtreth good leſsons, to the well diſpoſed mynd. The glorious triumphe of the continent man vpon the luſtes of wanton fleſhe, incourageth men to honeſt reſtraynt of wyld affections the ſhamefull and wretchedendeſ of ſuch, as haue yelded their libertie thrall to fowle deſires, teache men to witholde them ſelues from the hedlong fall of looſe diſhoneſtie. So, to lyke effect, by ſundry meanes, the good mans exaumple byddeth men to be good, and the euill mans miſchefe; warneth men not to be euyll. To this good ende, ſerue all ill endes, of yll begynnynges. And to this ende (good Reader) is this tragicall matter written, to deſcribe vnto thee a coople of vnfortunate lovers, thralling themſelues to vnhoneſt deſire, neglecting the authoritie and aduiſe of parents and frends, conferring their principall counſels with dronken goſſyppes, and ſuperſtitious friers (the naturally fite inſtrumentes of vnchaſtitie) attemptyng all aduentures of peryll, for th attaynyng of their wiſhed luſt, vſyng auriculer confeſſion (the kay of whoredome, and treaſon) for furtheraunce of theyr purpoſe, abuſyng the honorable name of lawefull mariage, to cloke the ſhame of ſtolne contracts, finallye, by all meanes of vnhoneſt lyfe, haſtyng to moſt vnhappye death. This preſident (good Reader) ſhallbe to thee, as the ſlaues of Lacedemon, oppreſſed with exceſſe of drinke, deformed and altered from likenes of men, both in mynde, and vſe of body, were to the free borne children, ſo ſhewed to them by their parentes, to thintent to rayſe in them an hateful lothying of ſo filthy beaſtlynes. Hereunto if you applye it, ye ſhall deliuer my dooing from offence, and profit your ſelues. Though I ſaw the ſame argument lately ſet foorth on ſtage with more commendation, then I can looke for: (being there much better ſet forth then I haue or can dooe) yet the ſame matter penned aſ it is, may serue to lyke good effect, if the readers do brynge with them lyke good myndes, to conſider it. Which hath the more incouraged me to publiſhe it, ſuche as it is. Ar. Br.
To the Reader.
A mid the deſert rockes, the mountaine beare,
Bringes forth vnformed, vnlyke her ſelfe her yong:
Nought els but lumpes of fleſhe withouten heare,
In tract of time, her often lycking tong
Giues them ſuch ſhape as doth (ere long) delight
The lookers on. Or when one dogge doth ſhake
With mooſled mouth, the ioyntes too weake to fight.
Or when vpright he ſtandeth by his ſtake,
(A noble creaſt,) or wylde in ſauage wood,
A doſyn dogges one holdeth at a baye,
With gaping mouth, and ſtayned iawes with blood,
Or els, when from the farthest heauens, they
The lode ſtares are, the wery pilates marke,
In ſtormes to gyde to hauen the toſſed barke.
Right ſo my muſe
Hath (now at length) with trauell long brought forth
Her tender whelpes, her diuers kindes of ſtyle,
Such as they are, or nought, or little worth,
Which carefull trauell, and a longer whyle,
May better ſhape. The eldeſt of them loe,
I offer to the ſtake, my youthfull woorke,
Which one reprochefull mouth might ouerthrowe:
The reſt (vnlickt as yet) a whyle ſhall lurke,
Tyll tyme geue ſtrength, to meete and match in fight
With ſlaunders whelpes. Then ſhall they tell of ſtryfe
Of noble tryumphes, and deedes of martial might,
And ſhall geue rules of chaſt and honeſt lyfe.
The whyle I pray that ye with fauour blame,
Or rather not reproue the laughing game
Of this my muſe.
The Argument.
Loue hath inflamed twayne by ſodayn ſight.
And both do graunt the thing that both deſire
They wed in ſhrift by counſellof a frier.
Yong Romeus clymes fayre Juliets bower by night.
Three monthes he doth enioy his cheefe delight.
By Tybalts rage, provoked vnto yre,
He payeth death to Tybalt for his hyre.
A baniſht man he ſcapes by ſecret flight.
New mariage is offred to his wyfe.
She drinkes a drinke that ſeemes to reaue her breath.
They bury her, that ſleping yet hath lyfe.
Her huſband heares the tydinges of her death.
He drinkes his bane. And ſhe with Romeus knyfe,
When ſhe awakes, her ſelfe (alas) ſhe ſleath.
There is beyonde the Alps,
a towne of auncient fame,
Whoſe bright renoune yet ſhineth cleare,
Verona men it name.
Bylt in an happy time,
bylt on a fertile ſoyle:
Maynteined by the heauenly fates,
and by the towniſh toyle.
The fruitfull hilles aboue,
the pleaſant uales belowe,
The ſiluer ſtreame with channell depe,
that through the towne doth flow:
The ſtore of ſpringes that ſerue
for vſe, and eke for eaſe:
And other moe commodities
which profite may and pleaſe.
Eke many certaine ſignes
of thinges betyde of olde,
To fyll the houngry eyes of thoſe
that curiouſly beholde:
Doe make this towne to be
preferde aboue the reſt
Of Lumbard townes, or at the leaſt,
compared with the beſt.
In which while Eſcalus,
as prince alone dyd raigne,
To reache rewarde vnto the good,
to pay the lewde with payne.
Alas (I rewe to thinke)
an heauy happe befell:
Which Boccace ſkant (not my rude tong)
were able forth to tell.
Within my trembling hande,
my penne doth ſhake for feare:
vpright doth ſtand my heare.
But ſith ſhe doth commaunde,
whoſe heſt I muſt obaye,
In moorning verſe, a wofull chaunce
to tell I will aſſaye.
Helpe learned Pallas, helpe,
ye muſes with your arte,
Helpe all ye damned feendes to tell,
of ioyes retournd to ſmart.
Helpe eke ye ſiſters three,
my ſkilleſſe penne tindyte:
For you it cauſd which I (alas)
unable am to wryte.
There were two auncient ſtockes,
which Fortune high dyd place
Aboue the reſt, indewd with welth,
and nobler of their race.
Loued of the common ſort,
loued of the Prince alike:
And like vnhappy were they both,
when fortune liſt to ſtrike.
Whoſe prayſe with equall blaſt,
fame in her trumpet blew:
The one was clipd Capelet,
and thother Montagew.
A wonted vſe it is,
that men of likely ſorte,
(I wot not by what furye forſd)
envye eche others porte.
So theſe, whoſe egall ſtate
bred enuye pale of hew,
And then, of grudging enuyes roote,
blacke hate and rancor grewe.
As of a little ſparke,
oft ryſeth mighty fyre,
So of a kyndled ſparke of grudge,
in flames flaſhe out theyr yre.
And then theyr deadly foode,
firſt hatched of trifling ſtryfe:
Did bathe in bloud of ſmarting woundes,
it reued breth and lyfe.
No legend lye I tell,
ſcarce yet theyr eyes be drye:
That did behold the griſly ſight,
with wet and weping eye.
But when the prudent prince,
who there the ſcepter helde,
So great a new diſorder in
his common weale beheld:
By ientyl meane he ſought,
their choler to aſſuage:
And by perſwaſion to appeaſe,
their blameful furious rage.
But both his woordes and tyme,
the prince hath ſpent in vayne:
So rooted was the inward hate,
he loſt his buſy payne.
When friendly ſage aduiſe,
ne ientyll woords auayle:
By thondring threats, and princely powere
their courage gan he quayle.
In hope that when he had
the waſting flame ſuppreſt,
In time he ſhould quyte quench the ſparks
that boornd within their breſt.
Now whilſt theſe kyndreds do
remayne in this eſtate,
And eche with outward frendly ſhew
dooth hyde his inward hate:
One Romeus, who was
of race a Montague,
Upon whoſe tender chyn, as yet,
no manlyke beard there grewe.
Whoſe beauty and whoſe ſhape
ſo farre the reſt did ſtayne:
That from the cheefe of Veron youth
he greateſt fame dyd gayne,
Hath founde a mayde ſo fayre
(he found ſo foule his happe)
Whoſe beauty, ſhape, and comely grace,
did ſo his heart entrappe,
That from his owne affayres,
his thought ſhe did remoue:
Onely he ſought to honor her,
to ſerue her, and to loue.
To her he writeth oft,
oft meſſengers are ſent:
At length (in hope of better ſpede)
himſelfe the louer went:
Preſent to pleade for grace,
which abſent was not founde:
And to diſcouer to her eye
his new receaued wounde.
But ſhe that from her youth
was foſtred euermore
With vertues foode, and taught in ſchole
of wiſdomes ſkilfull lore:
By aunſwere did cutte of
thffections of his loue,
That he no more occaſion had
ſo vayne a ſuite to moue.
So ſterne ſhe was of chere,
(for all the payne he tooke)
That in reward of toyle, ſhe would
not geue a frendly looke.
And yet how much ſhe did
with conſtant mind retyre:
So much the more his feruent minde
was prickt fourth by deſyre.
But when he many monthes,
hopeleſſe of his recure,
Had ſerued her, who forced not
what paynes he did endure:
At length he thought to leaue
Verona, and to proue,
If chaunge of place might chaunge awaye
his ill beſtowed loue.
And ſpeaking to himſelfe,
thus gan he make his mone:
What booteth me to loue and ſerue
a fell vnthankfull one,
Sith that my humble ſute
and labour ſowede in vayne,
Can reap none other fruite at all
but ſcorne and proude diſdayne:
What way ſhe ſeekes to goe,
the ſame I ſeeke to runne:
But ſhe the path wherein I treade,
with ſpedy flight doth ſhunne.
I can not liue, except
that nere to her I be:
She is ay beſt content when ſhe
is fartheſt of from me.
Wherefore henceforth I will
farre from her take my flight:
Perhaps mine eye once baniſhed
by abſence from her ſight:
This fyre of myne, that by
her pleaſant eyne is fed:
Shall little and little weare away,
and quite at laſt be ded.
But whileſt he did decree
this purpoſe ſtill to kepe:
A contrary repugnant thought
ſanke in his breſt ſo depe:
That doutefull is he now,
which of the twayne is beſt:
In ſighs, in teares, in plainte, in care,
in ſorow and vnreſt.
He mones the daye, he wakes
the long and wery night,
So deepe hath loue with pearcing hand,
ygraud her bewty bright
Within his breſt, and hath
ſo maſtred quite his hart:
That he of force muſt yeld as thrall,
no way is left to ſtart.
He can not ſtaye his ſteppe,
but forth ſtill muſt he ronne,
He languiſheth and melts awaye,
as ſnow againſt the ſonne.
His kyndred and alyes,
do wonder what he ayles,
And eche of them in frendly wiſe,
his heauy hap bewayles.
But one emong the reſt,
the truſtieſt of his feeres.
Farre more then he with counſel fild,
and ryper of his years,
Gan ſharply him rebuke,
ſuche loue to him he bare:
That he wasfelow of his ſmart,
and partner of his care.
What meaneſt thou Romeus
(quoth he) what doting rage
Dooth make thee thus conſume away,
the beſt parte of thine age,
In ſeking her that ſcornes,
and hydes her from thy ſight:
Not forſing all thy great expence,
ne yet thy honor bright.
Thy teares, thy wretched lyfe,
ne thine unſpotted truth:
Which are of force (I weene) to moue
the hardeſt heart to ruthe.
Now for our frendſhips ſake,
and for thy health I pray:
That thou hencefoorth become thyne owne,
O geue no more away,
Unto a thankles wight,
thy precious free eſtate:
In that thou loueſt ſuch a one,
thou ſeemſt thy ſelfe to hate.
For ſhe doth loue els where,
(and then thy time is lorne)
Or els (what booteth thee to ſue)
loues court ſhe hath forſworne.
Both yong thou art of yeares,
and high in Fortunes grace:
What man is better ſhapd than thou?
Who hath a ſwetter face?
By painfull ſtudies meane,
great learning haſt thou wonne:
Thy parentes haue none other heyre,
thou art theyr onely ſonne.
What greater griefe (trowſt thou?)
what wofull dedly ſmart
Should ſo be able to diſtraine
thy ſeely fathers heart?
As in his age to ſee
thee plonged deepe in vyce:
When greateſt hope he hath to heare
thy vertues fame ariſe.
What ſhall thy kinſmen thinke,
thou cauſe of all theyr ruthe?
Thy dedly foes do laugh to ſkorne
thy yll employed youth.
Wherefore my counſell is,
that thou henceforth beginne
To knowe and flye the errour which
to long thou liuedſt in.
Remoue the veale of loue,
that keepes thine eyes ſo blynde:
That thou ne canſt the ready path
of thy forefathers fynde.
But if vnto thy will
ſo much in thrall thou art:
Yet in ſome other place beſtowe
thy witles wandring hart.
Chooſe out ſome worthy dame,
her honor thou and ſerue,
Who will geue eare to thy complaint
and pitty ere thou ſterue.
But ſow no more thy paynes
in ſuch a barrayne ſoyle:
As yeldes in harueſt time no crop
in recompence of toyle.
Ere long the towniſhe dames
together will reſort:
Some one of bewty, favour, ſhape,
and of ſo louely porte:
With ſo faſt fixed eye,
perhaps thou mayſt beholde:
That thou ſhalt quite forget thy loue,
and paſſions paſt of olde.
The young mans liſtning eare
receiude the holeſome ſounde,
And reaſons truth yplanted ſo,
within his head had grounde:
That now with healthy cool
ytempred is the heate:
And piecemeale wears away the greefe
that erſt his heart dyd freate.
To his approued frend,
a ſolemne othe he plight:
At euery feaſt ykept by day,
and banquet made by night:
At pardons in the churche,
at games in open ſtreate:
And euery where he would reſort
where Ladies wont to meete.
Eke ſhould his ſauage heart
lyke all indifferently:
For he would view and iudge them all
with vnallured eye.
How happy had he been.
had he not been forſworne:
But twyſe as happy had he been
had he been neuer borne.
For ere the Moone could thryſe
her waſted hornes renew,
Falſe Fortune caſt for him poore wretch,
a myſchiefe newe to brewe.
The wery winter nightes
reſtore the Chriſtmas games:
And now the ſeaſon doth inuite
to banquet towniſh dames.
And fyrſt in Capels houſe,
the chiefe of all the kyn:
Sparth for no coſt, the wonted vſe
of banquets to begyn.
No Lady fayre or fowle,
was in Verona towne:
No knight or gentleman
of high or lowe renowne:
But Capilet himſelfe
hath byd vnto his feaſt:
Or by his name in paper ſent,
appoynted as a geaſt.
Yong damſels thether flocke,
of bachelers a route:
Not ſo much for the banquets ſake,
as bewties to ſearch out.
But not a Montagew
would enter at his gate:
For as you heard, the Capilets,
and they were at debate.
Saue Romeus, and he
in maſke with hidden face:
The ſupper done, with other fiue
dyd preaſe into the place.
When they had maſkd a whyle,
with dames in courtly wiſe:
All dyd vnmaſke, the reſt dyd ſhew
them to theyr ladies eyes.
But baſhfull Romeus,
with ſhamefaſt face forſooke
The open preaſes, and him withdrew
into the chambers nook.
But brighter than the ſunne,
the waxen torches ſhone:
That mauger what he could, he was
eſpyd of every one.
But of the women cheefe,
theyr gaſing eyes that threwe,
To wonder at his ſightly ſhape
and bewties ſpotles hewe.
With which the heauens him had
and nature ſo bedect:
That Ladies thought the faireſt dames
were foule in his reſpect.
And in theyr head beſide,
an other wonder roſe,
How he durſt put himſelfe in throng
among ſo many foes.
Ofcourage ſtoute they thought
his cumming to procede:
And women loue an hardy hart
as I in ſtories rede.
The Capilets diſdayne
the preſence of theyr foe:
Yet they ſuppreſſe theyr ſtyred yre,
the cauſe I do not knowe
Perhaps toffend their geſtes
the courteous knights are loth,
Perhaps they ſtay from ſharp reuenge,
dreadyng the Princes wroth.
Perhaps for that they ſhamd
to exerciſe theyr rage:
Within their houſe, gainſt one alone
and him of tender age.
They vſe no taunting talk,
ne harme himby theyr deede:
They neyther ſay, what makſt thou here,
ne yet they ſay God ſpede.
So that he freely might
the Ladies view at eaſe.
And they alſo behelding him,
their chaunge of fanſies pleaſe.
Which nature had him taught
to doe with ſuch a grace,
That there was none but ioyed at
his being there in place.
With upright beame he weyd
the bewty of eche dame,
And iudgd who beſt, and who next her,
was wrought in natures frame.
At length he ſaw a mayd,
right fayr, of perfect ſhape:
Which Theſeus, or Paris would
haue choſen to their rape.
Whom erſt he neuer ſawe,
of all ſhe pleaſde him moſt:
Within himſelfe he ſaid to her,
thou iuſtly mayſt thee boſte,
Of perfit ſhapes renoune,
and Beauties ſounding prayſe:
Whoſe like ne hath, ne ſhalbe ſeene,
ne liueth in our dayes.
And whileſt he fixd on her
his partiall perced eye,
His former loue, for which of late
he ready was to dye,
Is nowe as quite forgotte,
as it had neuer been:
The prouerb ſaith vnminded oft
are they that are vnſeene.
And as out of a planke
a nayle a nayle doth driue:
So nouell loue out of the minde
the auncient loue doth riue.
This ſodain kindled fyre
in time is wox ſo great:
That only death, and both theyr blouds
might quench the fiery heate.
When Romeus ſaw himſelfe
in this new tempeſt toſt:
Where both was hope of pleaſant port,
and daunger to be loſt:
He doubtefull, ſkaſely knew
what countenance to keepe
In Lethies floud his wonted flames
were quenchd and drenchd deepe.
Yea he forgets himſelfe,
ne is the wretch ſo bolde
To aſke her name, that without force
hath him in bondage folde.
Ne how tunlooſe his bondes
doth the poore foole deuiſe,
But onely ſeeketh by her ſight
to feede his haungry eyes.
Through them he ſwalloweth downe
loues ſweete empoyſonde baite,
How ſurely are the wareles wrapt
by thoſe that lye in wayte?
So is the poyſon ſpred
throughout his bones and veines:
That in a while (alas the while)
it haſteth deadly paines
Whilſt Iuliet (for ſo
this gentle damſell hight)
From ſyde to ſyde on euery one
dyd caſt about her ſight:
At laſt her floating eyes
were ancored faſt on him,
Who for her ſake dyd baniſhe health
and fredome from eche limme.
He in her ſight did ſeeme
to paſſe the reſt as farre
As Phoebus ſhining beames do paſſe
the brightnes of a ſtarre.
In wayte laye warlike loue
with golden bowe and ſhaft,
And to his ear with ſteady hand
the bowſtring vp he raft.
Till now ſhe had eſcapde
his ſharpe inflaming darte:
Till now he liſted not aſſaulte
her yong and tender hart.
His whetted arrow looſde,
ſo touchd her to the quicke:
That through the eye it ſtrake the hart,
and there the hedde did ſticke.
It booted not to ſtriue,
for why, ſhe wanted ſtrength:
The weaker aye vnto the ſtrong
of force muſt yeld at length.
The pomps now of the feaſt
her heart gyns to deſpyſe:
And onely ioyeth when her eyen
meete with her louers eyes.
When their new ſmitten heartes
had fed on louing gleames:
Whilſt, paſſing too and fro theyr eyes,
ymingled were theyr beames.
Each of theſe louers gan
by others lookes to knowe:
That frendſhip in their breſt had roote,
and both would haue it grow.
When thus in both theyr harts
had Cupide made his breache:
And eche of them had ſought the meane
to end the warre by ſpeache.
Dame Fortune did aſſent
theyr purpoſe to aduaunce:
With torche in hand a comly knight
did fetch her foorth to daunce.
She quit her ſelfe ſo well,
and with ſo trim a grace:
That ſhe the cheefe prayſe wan that night
from all Verona race.
The whilſt our Romeus,
a place had warely wonne:
Nye to the ſeate where ſhe muſt ſit,
the daunce once beyng donne.
Fayre Iuliet tourned to,
her chayre with pleaſant cheere:
And glad ſhe was her Romeus
approched was ſo neere.
At thone ſide of her chayre,
her louer Romeo:
And on the other ſide there ſat
one cald Mercutio.
A courtier that eche where
was highly had in pryce:
For he was coorteous of his ſpeche,
and pleaſant of deviſe.
Euen as a Lyon would
among the lambes be bolde:
Such was among the baſhfull maydes,
Mercutio to beholde.
With frendly gripe he ſeiſd
fayre Iuliets ſnowiſh hand:
A gyft he had that nature gaue
him in his ſwathing hand.
That froſen mountayne yſe
was neuer halfe ſo cold
As were his handes, though nere ſo neer
the fire he dyd them holde.
As ſoone as had the knight
the vyrgins right hand raught:
Within his trembling hand her left
hath louing Romeus caught.
For he wiſt well himſelfe
for her abode moſt payne:
And well he wiſt ſhe loued him beſt,
vnles ſhe liſt to fayne.
Then ſhe with tender hand
his tender palme hath preſt:
What ioy trow you was graffed ſo
in Romeus clouen breaſt:
The ſwdain ſweete delight
hath ſtopped quite his tong.
Ne can he claime of her his right,
ne craue redreſſe of wrong.
But ſhe eſpyd ſtraight waye
by chaunging of his hwe
From pale to red, from red to pale,
and ſo from pale anew:
That vehment loue was cauſe,
why ſo his tong dyd ſtay:
And ſo much more ſhe longed to heare
what loue could teache him ſaye.
When ſhe had longed long,
and he long held his peace,
And her deſire of hearing him,
by ſylence dyd encreaſe.
At laſt with trembling voyce
and ſhamefaſt chere, the mayde
Unto her Romeus tournde her ſelfe,
and thus to him ſhe ſayde.
O bleſſed be the time
of thy arriuall here:
But ere ſhe could ſpeak forth the reſt,
to her loue drewe ſo nere:
And ſo within her mouth,
her tongue he glewed faſt,
That no one woord could ſcape her more,
then what already paſt.
In great contented eaſe
the yong man ſtraight is rapt,
What chaunce (ȹ he) vnware to me
O lady myne is hapt:
That geues you worthy cauſe,
my cumming here to bliss:
Fayre Iuliet was come agayne
vnto her ſelfe by this.
Fyrſt ruthfully ſhe lookd,
then ſayd with ſmylyng chere:
Meruayle no whit my heartes delight,
my onely knight and fere,
Mercutious yſy hande
had all to froſen myne,
And of thy goodnes thou agayne
haſt warmed it with thine.
Whereto with ſtayed brow,
gan Romeus to replye
If ſo the gods haue graunted me,
ſuche fauour from the ſkye,
That by my being here,
ſome ſeruice I haue donne
That pleaſeth you I am as glad,
as I a realme had wonne,
O well beſtowed time,
that hath the happy hyre,
Which I woulde wyſh if I might haue,
my wiſhed harts deſire.
For I of God woulde craue,
as pryſe of payines forpaſt,
To ſerue, obey and honour you,
ſo long as lyfe ſhall laſt.
As proofe ſhall teache you playne,
if that you like to trye
His faltles truth, that nill for ought,
vnto his lady lye.
But if my tooched hand,
haue warmed yours ſome dele
Aſſure your ſelf the heat is colde,
which in your hand you fele,
Compard to ſuche quick ſparks
and glowing furious gleade,
As from your bweuties pleaſaunt eyne,
loue cauſed to proceade.
Which haue ſo ſet on fyre,
eche feling parte of myne,
That lo, my mynde doeth melt awaye:
my vtwerdparts doe pyne.
And but you helpe all whole,
to aſhes ſhall I toorne:
Wherefore (alas) haue ruth on him,
whom you do force to boorne.
Euen with his ended tale,
the torches daunce had ende,
And Iuliet of force muſt part
from her new choſen frend.
His hand ſhe claſped hard,
and all her partes did ſhake:
When lay ſureles with whiſpring voyce
thus did ſhe aunſwer make.
You are no more your owne
(dear friend) then I am yours
(My honour ſaued) preſt tobey
your will, while life endures,
Lo here the lucky lot
that ſild true louers finde:
Eche takes away the others hart,
and leaues the owne behinde.
A happy life is loue
if God graunt from aboue,
That hart with hart by euen waight
doo make exchaunge of loue.
But Romeus gone from her,
his heart for care is colde:
He hath forgot to aſke her name
that hath his hart in holde.
With forged careles cheere,
of one he ſeekes to knowe,
Both how ſhe hight, and whence ſhe cammee,
that him enchuanted ſo.
So hath he learnd her name,
and knowth ſhe is no geaſt.
Her father was a Capilet,
and maſter of the feaſt.
Thus hath hiſfoe in choyſe
to geue him lyfe or death:
That ſcarſely can his wofull breaſt
keepe in the liuely breath.
Wherefore with piteous plaint
feerce Fortune doth he blame:
That in his ruth and wretched plight
doth ſeeke her laughing game.
And he reproueth loue,
cheefe cauſe of his vnreſt:
Who eaſe and freedome hath exilde
out of his youthfull breſt.
Twiſe hath he made him ſerue,
hopeles of his rewarde:
Of both the ylles to chooſe the leſſe,
I weene the choice were hard.
Fyrſt to a ruthleſſe one
he made him ſue for grace:
And now with ſpurre he forceth him
to ronne an endles race.
Amyd theſe ſtormy ſeas
one ancor doth him holde,
He ſerueth not a cruell one,
as he had done of olde.
And therfore is content,
and chooſeth ſtill to ſerue:
Though hap ſhould ſwear that guerdonles
the wretched wight ſhould ſterue.
The lot of Tantalus
is Romeus lyke to thine
For want of foode amid his fwde,
the myſer ſtyll doth pine.
As carefull was the mayde
what way were beſt deuiſe
To learne his name, that entertaind
her in ſo gentle wiſe.
Of whome her hart receiued
ſo deepe, ſo wyde a wounde,
An auncient dame ſhe calde to her,
and in her ear gan rounde.
This olde dame in her youth,
had nurſt her with her mylke,
With ſlender nedle taught her ſow,
and how to ſpin with ſilke.
What twayne are thoſe (quoth ſhe)
which preaſe vnto the doore,
Whoſe pages in theyr hand doe beare,
two toorches light before.
And then as eche of them
had of his houſhold name,
So ſhe him namde yet once agayne
the yong and wyly dame.
And tell me who is he
with vyſor in his hand
That yender doth in maſking weede
beſyde the window ſtand.
His name is Romeus
(ſayd ſhe) a Montegewe.
Whoſe fathers pryde firſt ſtyrd the ſtrife
which both your houſholdes rewe.
The woord of Montegew,
her ioyes did ouerthrow,
And ſtraight in ſteade of happy hope,
dyſpayre began to growe.
What hap haue I quoth ſhe,
to loue my fathers foe?
What, am I wery of my wele?
What, doe I wiſhe my woe?
But though her grieuous paynes
diſtrained her tender hart,
Yet with an outward ſhewe of ioye
ſhe cloked inward ſmart.
And of the courtlyke dames
her leaue ſo courtly tooke,
That none dyd geſſe the ſodain change
by changing of her looke.
Then at her mothers heſt
to chamber ſheher hyde
So well ſhe faynde, mother ne nurce,
the hidden harme deſcride.
But when ſhe ſhould haue ſlept
as wont ſhe was, in bed,
Not halfe a winke of quiet ſlepe
could harber in her bed.
For loe, an hugy heape
of dyuers thoughtes ariſe
That reſt haue baniſht from her hart,
and ſlumber from her eyes.
And now from ſide to ſide
ſhe toſſeth and ſhe turnes,
And now for feare ſhe ſheuereth,
and now for loue ſhe burnes.
And now ſhe lykes her choyſe,
and now her choyſe ſhe blames,
And now eche houre within her head,
a thouſand fanſies frames
Sometime in mynde to ſtop,
amyd her courſe begonne
Sometime ſhe vowes what ſo betyde,
thattempted race to ronne.
Thus dangers dred and loue,
within the mayden fought,
The fight was feerce continuyng long
by their contrary thought.
In tourning maſe of loue
ſhe wandreth too and fro,
Then ſtandeth doutfull what to doe,
laſt ouerpreſt with woe.
How ſo her fanſies ceaſe,
her teares dyd neuer blyn,
With heauy cheere and wringed hands,
thus doth her plaint begyn.
Ah ſily foole (quoth ſhe)
ycought in ſoottill ſnare:
Ah wretched wench bewrapt in woe,
ah caytife clad with care.
Whence come theſe wandring thoughtes
to thy vnconſtant breſt?
By ſtraying thus from rayſons lore,
that reue thy wonted reſt.
What if his ſuttell brayne,
to fayne haue taught his tong?
And ſo the ſnake that lurkes in graſſe,
thy tender hart hath ſtong?
What if with frendly ſpeache
the traytor lye in wayte?
As oft the poyſond hooke is hid,
wrapt in the pleaſant bayte?
Oft vnder cloke of truth,
hath falſhood ſerued her luſt:
And toornd theyr honor into ſhame,
that did ſo ſlightly truſt.
What, was not Dido ſo,
a crouned Queene: defamd?
And eke for ſuch an heynous cryme,
haue men not Theſeus blamd?
A thouſand ſtories more,
to teache me to beware:
In Boccace, and in Ouids bookes
too playnely written are.
Perhaps the great reuenge
he cannot woorke by ſtrength:
By ſuttel ſleight (my honor ſtaynde)
he hopes to worke at length.
So ſhall I ſeeke to finde
my fathers foe his game:
So I befylde, report ſhall take
her trompe of blacke defame.
Whence ſhe with puffed cheeke
ſhall blowe a blaſt ſo ſhrill
Of my diſprayſe, that with the noyſe
Verona ſhall ſhe fill.
Then I a laughing ſtocke
through all the towne becomme:
Shall hide my ſelfe, but not my ſhame,
within an hollowe toombe.
Straight vnderneth her foote,
ſhe treadeth in the duſt
Her troubleſom thought as wholy vaine,
ybred of fond diſtruſt.
No no by God aboue,
I wot it well quoth ſhee,
Although I raſhely ſpake before,
in no wiſe can it bee.
That where ſuch perfet ſhape,
with pleaſant bewty reſtes:
There crooked craft and trayſon blacke,
ſhould be appoynted geſtes.
Sage writers ſay, the thoughts
are dwelling in the eyne:
Then ſure I am as Cupid raignes
that Romeus is myne.
The tong the meſſenger,
eke call they of the mynd:
So that I ſee he loueth me,
ſhall I then be vnkynd?
His faces roſy hew,
I ſaw full oft to ſeeke:
And ſtraight againe it flaſhed foorth,
and ſpred in eyther cheeke.
His fyxed heauenly eyne,
that through me quite did perce
His thoughts vnto my hart, my thought
they ſemed to rehearce.
What ment his foltring tunge,
in telling of his tale:
The trembling of his ioynts and eke
his cooller waxen pale?
And whilſt I take with him,
hym ſelf he hath exylde,
Out of him ſelf (as ſeemed me)
ne was I ſure begylde.
Thoſe arguments of loue,
craft wrate not in his face
But natures hande when all deceyte,
was baniſhd out of place
What other certain ſignes
ſeke I of his good wil?
Theſe doo ſuffiſe, and ſtedfaſt I
will loue and ſerue him ſtill,
Till Attropos ſhall cut,
my fatall thread of lyfe,
So that he mynde to make of me
his lawfull wedded wyfe.
For ſo perchaunce this new
aliance may procure
Unto our houſes ſuche a peace
as euer ſhall endure
Oh how we can perſwade,
our ſelf to what we like
And how we can diſwade our mynd,
if ought our mynd miſlyke.
Weake arguments are ſtronge,
our fanſies ſtreyght to frame,
To pleaſing things, and eke to ſhonne,
if we miſlike the ſame.
The mayde had ſcarſely yet
ended the wery warre,
Kept in her heart by ſtriuing thoughtes
when euery ſhining ſtarre
Had payd his borowed light,
and Phebus ſpred in ſkies
His golden rayes, which ſeemd to ſay:
now time it is to riſe.
And Romeus had by this
forſaken his wery bed:
Where reſtles he a thouſand thoughts
had forged in his hed.
And while with lingring ſtep
by Iuliets houſe he paſt:
And vpward to her windowes high
his gredy eyes did caſt:
His loue that looked for him,
there gan he ſtraight eſpie,
With pleaſant cheere eche greeted is,
ſhe followeth with her eye
His parting ſteppes, and he
oft looketh backe againe:
But not ſo oft as he deſyres,
warely he doth refraine.
What life were lyke to loue,
if dred of ieopardy,
Yſowred not the ſweete, if loue
were free from ieloſy.
But ſhe more ſure within,
vnſeene of any wight,
When ſo he comes, lookes after him,
till he be out of ſight.
In often paſſing ſo,
his buſy eyes he threw,
That euery pane and tooting hole
the wily louer knew.
In happy houre he doth
a garden plot eſpye:
From which except he warely walke,
men may his loue deſcrye.
For lo, it fronted full,
vpon her leaning place:
Where ſhe is woont to ſhew her heart
by cheerefull frendly face.
And leſt the arbors might
theyr ſecret loue bewraye:
He doth keepe backe his forward foote
from paſſing there by daye.
But when on earth the night
her mantel blacke hath ſpred:
Well armd he walketh foorth alone,
ne dreadfull foes doth dred.
Whom maketh loue not bold,
naye whom makes he not blynde?
He reueth daungers dread oft times
out of the loues minde.
By night he paſſeth here,
a weeke or two in vayne:
And for the miſſing of his marke
his griefe hath him nye ſlaine.
And Iuliet that now
both lacke her hearts releefe:
Her Romeus pleaſant eyen (I meene)
is almoſt dead for greefe.
Eche day ſhe chaungeth howres,
(for louers keepe an howre)
When they are ſure to ſee theyr loue
in paſſing by their howre.
Impacient of her woe,
ſhe hapt to leane one night
Within her window, and anon
the Moone did ſhine ſo bright,
That ſhe eſpyde her loue,
her hart reuiued, ſprang,
And now for ioy ſhe clappes her handes,
which erſt for woe ſhe wrang.
Eke Romeus when he ſawe
his long deſired ſight:
His moorning cloke of mone caſt of,
hath clad him with delight.
Yet dare I ſay, of both,
that ſhe reioyced more:
His care was great, hers twiſe as great,
was all the tyme before:
For whilſt ſhe knew not why
he dyd himſelfe abſent:
Ay douting both his health and lyfe,
his death ſhe dyd lament.
For loue is fearefull oft,
where is no cauſe of feare:
And what loue feares, that loue laments,
as though it chaunced weare.
Of greater cauſe alway
is greater woorkeybred:
While he nought douteth of her helth,
ſhe dreads leſt he be ded.
When onely abſence is
the cauſe of Romeus ſmart:
By happyhope of ſight agayne
he feedes his faynting hart.
What woonder then if he
were wrapt in leſſe annoye?
What maruell if by ſodain ſight
ſhe fed of greater ioye?
His ſmaller greefe or ioy,
no ſmaller loue doo proue:
Ne for ſhe paſſed him in both,
did ſhe him paſſe in loue.
But eche of them alike
dyd burne in equall flame:
The welbelouing knight, and eke
the welbeloued dame.
Now whilſt with bitterteares
her eyes as fountaynes ronne:
With whiſpering voyce ybroke with ſobs,
thus is her tale begonne.
Oh Romeus (of your lyfe)
too lauas ſure yon are:
That in this place, and at thys tyme
to haſard it you dare.
What if your dedly foes
my kynſmen, ſaw you here?
Lyke Lyons wylde, your tender partes
aſonder would they teare.
In ruth and in diſdayne,
I weary of my lyfe:
With cruell hand my moorning hart
would perce with bloudy knyfe.
For you myne owne once dead,
what ioy ſhould I haue heare?
And eke my honor ſtaynde which I
then lyfe doe holde more deare.
Fayre lady myne dame Iuliet
my lyfe (quod he)
Euen from my byrth committed was
to fatall ſiſters three.
They may in ſpyte of foes,
draw foorth my liuely threed:
And they alſo, who ſo ſayth nay,
a ſonder may it ſhreed.
But who to reaue my lyfe,
his rage and force would bende:
Perhaps ſhould trye vnto his payne
how I it could defende.
Ne yet I loue it ſo,
but alwayes for your ſake,
A ſacrifice to death I would
my wounded corps betake.
If my miſhappe were ſuch,
that here before your ſight,
I ſhould reſtore agayne to death,
of lyfe my borowde light:
This one thing and no more
my parting ſprite would rewe:
That part he ſhould, before that you
by certaine triall knew
The loue I owe to you,
the thrall I languiſh in:
And how I dread to looſe the gayne
which I doe hope to win.
And how I wiſhe for lyfe,
not for my propre eaſe:
But that in it, you might I loue,
you honor, ſerue and pleaſe,
Tyll dedly pangs the ſprite
out of the corps ſhall ſend:
And therupon he ſware an othe,
and ſo his tale had ende.
Now loue and pitty boyle,
in Iuliets ruthfull breſt,
In windowe on her leaning arme,
her weary hed doth reſt.
Her boſome bathd in teares,
to witnes inward payne:
With dreary chere to Romeus,
thus aunſwerd ſhe agayne.
Ah my deere Romeus,
keepe in theſe woordes (quod ſhe)
For lo, the thought of ſuch miſchaunce,
already maketh me
For pitty and for dred,
welnigh to yelde vp breath:
In euen ballance payſed are
my life and eke my death.
For so my hart is knitte,
yea, made one ſelfe with yours:
That ſure there is no greefe ſo ſmall,
by which your mynde endures.
But as you ſuffer payne,
ſo I doe beare in part:
(Although it leſſens not your greefe)
the halfe of all your ſmart.
But theſe thinges ouerpaſt,
if of your health and myne
You haue reſpect, or pitty ought
my teary weping eyen:
In few vnfained woords,
your hidden mynd vnfolde,
That as I ſee your pleaſant face,
your heart I may beholde.
For if you doe intende
my honor to defile:
In error ſhall you wander ſtill
as you haue done this whyle,
But if your thought be chaſte,
and haue on vertue ground
If wedlocke be the ende and marke
which your deſire hath found:
Obedience ſet aſide,
vnto my parentes dewe:
The quarell eke that long agoe
betwene our houſholdes grewe:
Both me and myne I will
all whole to you betake:
And following you where ſo you goe,
my fathers houſe forſake.
But if by wanton loue,
and by vnlawfull ſute,
You thinke in ripeſt yeres to plucke
my maydenhods dainty frute:
You are begylde, and now
your Iuliet you be ſeekes
To ceaſe your ſute, and ſuffer her
to liue emong her likes.
Then Romeus, whoſe thought
was free from fowle deſyre:
And to the top of vertues haight,
did worthely aſpyre:
Was fild with greater ioy
then can my pen expreſſe:
Or till they haue enioyd the like
the hearers hart can geſſe.
And then with ioyned hands
heaud vp into the ſkies:
He thankes the Gods, and from the heauens
for vengeance downe he cries.
If he haue other thought,
but as his lady ſpake:
And then his looke he toornd to her,
and thus did aunſwer make.
Since Lady that you like
to honor me ſo much,
As to accept me for your ſpouſe,
I yeld my ſelfe for ſuch.
In true witnes wherof,
becauſe I muſt depart,
Till that my deede do proue my woord,
I leaue in pawne my hart.
To morow eke betimes,
before the ſunne ariſe:
To fryer Lawrence will I wende,
to learne his ſage aduiſe.
He is my goſtly ſyre,
and oft he hath me taught
What I ſhould doe in things of wayght,
when I his ayde haue ſought.
And at this ſelfe ſame houre,
I plyte you here my fayth:
I wil be here (if you thinke good)
to tell you what he ſayth.
She was contented well,
els fauour found he none,
That night at lady Iuliets hand,
ſaue pleaſant woordes alone.
This barefoote fryer gyrt,
with cord his grayiſh weede,
For he of Frauncis order was,
a fryer as I reede,
Not as the moſt was he,
a groſſe vnlearned foole:
But doctor of diuinitie
proceded he in ſchoole.
The ſecretes eke he knew,
in natures woorkes that loorke:
By magiks arte moſt men ſuppoſd
that he could wonders woorke.
Ne doth it ill beſeeme
deuines thoſe ſkils to know:
If on no harmefull deede they do
ſuch ſkilfulnes beſtow.
For iuſtly of no arte
can men condemne the vſe:
But right and reaſons lore crye out
agaynſt the lewd abuſe.
The bounty of the fryer
and wiſdom hath ſo wonne
The townes folks herts, that welnigh all
to fryer Lawrence ronne,
To ſhriue them ſelfe the olde,
the yong, the great and ſmall:
Of all he is beloued well,
and honord much of all.
And for he did the reſt
in wiſdome farre exceede:
The prince by him (his counſell craude)
was holpe at time of neede.
Betwixt the Capilets
and him great frendſhip grew:
A ſecret and aſſured frend
vnto the Montegue.
Loued of this yong man more
then any other geſt,
The frier eke of Verone youth,
aye liked Romeus beſt.
For whom he euer hath
in time of his diſtres:
(As erſt you heard) by ſkilfull lore,
found out his harmes redreſſe.
To him is Romeus gonne,
ne ſtayth he till the morowe:
To him he paynteth all his caſe,
his paſſed ioy and ſorow.
How he hath her eſpyde
with other dames in daunce,
And how that firſt to talke with her,
himſelfe he did aduaunce.
Their talke and change of lookes
he gan to him declare:
And how ſo faſt by fayth and troth
they both ycoupled are.
That neither hope of lyfe,
nor dreed of cruel death,
Shall make him falſe his fayth to her
while lyfe ſhall lend him breath.
And then with weping eyes
he prayes his goſtly ſyre
To further and accompliſh all
theyr honeſt hartes deſire.
A thouſand doutes and moe
in thold mans hed aroſe:
A thouſand daungers like to come,
the olde man doth diſcloſe.
And from the ſpouſall rites
he readeth him refrayne:
Perhaps he ſhalbe bet aduiſde
within a weeke or twayne.
Aduiſe is baniſhd quite
from thoſe that followe loue,
Except aduiſe to what they like
theyr bending mynde do moue.
As well the father might
haue counſeld him to ſtay
That from a mountaines top thrown downe,
is falling halfe the way:
As warne his frend to ſtop,
amyd his race begonne,
Whom Cupid with his ſmarting whip
enforceth foorth to ronne.
Part wonne by earneſt ſute,
the fryer doth graunt at laſt:
And part, becauſe he thinkes the ſtormes
so lately ouerpaſt,
Of both the houſholdes wrath:
this mariage might apeaſe,
So that they ſhould not rage agayne,
but quite for euer ceaſe.
The reſpite of a day,
he aſketh to deuyſe:
What way were beſt vnknowne to ende
ſo great an enterpriſe.
The wounded man that now
doth dedly paines endure:
Scarce pacient tarieth whilſt his leeche
doth make the ſalue to cure.
So Romeus hardly graunts
a ſhort day and a night,
Yet nedes he muſt, els muſt he want
his onely hearts delight.
You ſee that Romeus
no time or payne doth ſpare:
Thinke that the whilſt fayre Iuliet
is not deuoyde of care.
Yong Romeus powreth foorth
his hap and his miſhap,
Into the friers breſt, but where
ſhall Iuliet vnwrap
The ſecretes of her hart?
to whom ſhall ſhe vnfolde,
Her hidden burning loue, and eke
her thought and cares ſo colde.
The nurce of whom I ſpake
within her chaumber laye:
Upon the mayde ſhe wayteth ſtill,
to her ſhe doth bewray
Her new receiued wound,
and then her ayde doth craue:
In her ſhe ſaith it lyes to ſpill,
in her her life to ſaue.
Not eaſely ſhe made
the froward nurce to bowe:
But wonne at length, with promeſt hyre
ſhe made a ſolemne vowe,
To do what ſhe commaundes,
as handmayd of her heſt:
Her miſtres ſecrets hide ſhe will,
within her couert breſt.
To Romeus ſhe goes
of him ſhe doth deſyre,
To know the meane of mariage
by councell of the fryre.
On Saterday quod he,
if Iuliet come to ſhrift,
She ſhalbe ſhriued and maried,
how lyke you noorſe this driſt?
Now by my truth (quod ſhe)
gods bleſſing haue your hart:
For yet in all my life I haue
not heard of ſuch a part.
Lord how you yong men can
ſuch crafty wiles deuiſe,
If that you loue the daughter well
to bleare the mothers eyes.
An eaſy thing it is,
with cloke of holines,
To mocke the ſely mother that
ſuſpecteth nothing leſſe
But that it pleaſed you
to tell me of the caſe,
For all my many yeres perhaps,
I ſhould haue found it ſcarſe.
Now for the reſt let me
and Iuliet alone:
To get her leaue, ſome feate excuſe
I will deuiſe anone.
For that her golden lockes
by ſloth haue been vnkempt:
Or for vnwares ſome wanton dreame
the youthfull damſell drempt,
Or for in thoughts of loue
her ydel time ſhe ſpent:
Or otherwiſe within her hart
deſerued to be ſhent.
I know her mother will
in no caſe ſay her nay:
I warrant you ſhe ſhall not fayle
to come on Saterday.
And then ſhe ſweares to him,
the mother loues her well:
And how ſhe gaue her ſucke in youth
ſhe leaueth not to tell.
A prety babe (quod ſhe)
it was when it was yong:
Lord how it could full pretely
haue prated with it tong.
A thouſand times and more
I laid her on my lappe,
And clapt her on the buttocke ſoft
and kiſt where I did clappe.
And gladder then was I
of ſuch a kiſſe forſooth:
Then I had been to haue a kiſſe
of ſome olde lechers mouth.
And thus of Iuliets youth
began this prating noorſe,
And of her preſent ſtate to make
a tedious long diſcoorſe.
For though he pleaſure tooke
in hearing of his loue:
The meſſage aunſwer ſeemed him
to be of more behoue.
But when theſe Beldams ſit
at eaſe vpon theyr tayle:
The day and eke the candle light
before theyr talke ſhall fayle.
And part they ſay is true,
and part they do deuiſe:
Yet boldly do they chat of both
when no man checkes theyr lyes.
Then he. vi. crownes of gold
out of his pocket drew:
And gaue them her, a ſlight reward
(quod he) and ſo adiew.
In ſeuen yeres twiſe tolde
ſhe had not bowd ſo lowe,
Her crooked knees, as now they bowe,
ſhe ſweares ſhe will beſtowe,
Her crafty wit, her time,
and all her buſy payne,
To helpe him to his hoped bliſſe,
and cowring downe agayne:
She takes her leaue, and home
ſhe hyes with ſpedy pace:
The chaumber doore ſhe ſhuts, and then
ſhe ſaith with ſmyling face.
Good newes for thee my gyrle,
good tidinges I thee bring:
Leaue of thy woonted ſong of care
and now of pleaſure ſing.
For thou mayſt hold thy ſelfe
the happieſt vnder ſonne:
That in ſo little while, ſo well
ſo worthy a knight haſt wonne.
The beſt yſhapde is he,
and hath the fayreſt face,
Of all this towne, and there is none
hath halfe ſo good a grace.
So gentle of his ſpeche,
and of his counſell wiſe:
And ſtill with many prayſes more
ſhe heaued him to the ſkies.
Tell me els what (quod ſhe)
this euermore I thought:
But of our mariage ſay at once,
what aunſwer haue you brought?
Nay ſoft quoth ſhe, I feare,
your hurt by ſodain ioye:
I liſt not play quoth Iuliet,
although thou liſt to toye.
How glad trow you was ſhe,
when ſhe had heard her ſay:
No farther of then Saterday,
differred was the day.
Againe the auncient nurce
doth ſpeake of Romeus,
And then (ſaid ſhe) he ſpake to me,
and then I ſpake him thus.
Nothing was done or ſaid,
that ſhe hath left vntolde,
Saue onely one, that ſhe forgot
the taking of the golde.
There is no loſſe quod ſhe,
(ſweete wench) to loſſe of time:
Ne in thine age ſhalt thou repent
ſo much of any crime.
For when I call to mynde,
my former paſſed youth:
One thing there is which moſt of all
doth cauſe my endles ruth.
At ſixtene yeres I firſt
did chooſe my louing feere:
And I was fully ripe before,
(I dare well ſay) a yere.
The pleaſure that I loſt,
that yere ſo ouerpaſt:
A thouſand times I haue be wept,
and ſhall while lyfe doth laſt.
In fayth it were a ſhame,
yea ſinne it were ywiſſe,
When thou mayſt liue in happy ioy
to ſet light by thy bliſſe.
She that this mornyng could
her miſtres mynde diſſwade,
Is now becomme an Oratreſſe,
her lady to perſwade.
If any man be here
whom loue hath clad with care:
To him I ſpeake, if thou wilt ſpede,
thy purſe thou muſt not ſpare.
Two ſortes of men there are,
ſeeld welcome in at doore:
The welthy ſparing nigard, and
the ſutor that is poore.
For glittring gold is woont
by kynd to mooue the hart:
And often times a ſlight rewarde
doth cauſe a more deſart.
Ywritten haue I red,
I wot not in what booke:
There is no better way to fiſhe,
then with a golden hooke.
Of Romeus theſe two,
doe ſitte and chat a while,
And to them ſelfe they laugh, how they
the mother ſhall begyle.
A feate excuſe they finde,
but ſure I know it not:
And leaue for her to goe to ſhrift
on Saterday ſhe got.
So well this Iuliet,
this wyly wench dyd know
Her mothers angry houres, and eke
the true bent of her bowe.
The Saterday betimes
in ſober weede yclad,
She tooke her leaue, and forth ſhe went
with viſage graue and ſad.
With her the nurce is ſent
as brydle of her luſt:
With her the mother ſendes a mayde,
almoſt of equall truſt.
Betwixt her teeth the bytte,
the Ienet now hath cought:
So warely eke the vyrgin walkes
her mayde perceiueth nought.
She gaſeth not in churche,
on yong men of the towne:
Ne wandreth ſhe from place to place,
but ſtraight ſhe kneleth downe
Vpon an alters ſtep,
where ſhe deuoutly prayes:
And there vpon her tender knees
the wery lady ſtayes:
Whilſt ſhe doth ſend her mayde
the certain truth to know,
If fryer Lawrence layſure had,
to heare her ſhrift, or no.
Out of his ſhriuing place
he commes with pleaſant cheere:
The ſhamefaſt mayde with baſhfull brow
to himward draweth neere.
Some great offence (ȹ he)
you haue committed late:
Perhaps you haue diſpleaſd your frend,
by geuing him a mate.
Then turning to the nurce,
and to the other mayde:
Goe heare a maſſe or two quod he,
which ſtraight way ſhalbe ſayde.
For her confeſſion heard,
I will vnto you twayne
The charge that I receiud of you,
reſtore to you agayne.
What, was not Iuliet
trow you right well apayde?
That for this truſty fryre hath chaungde
her yong miſtruſting mayde?
I dare well ſay there is
in all Verona none:
But Romeus, with whom ſhe would
ſo gladly be alone.
Thus to the fryers cell,
they both foorth walked bin:
He ſhuts the doore as ſoone as he
and Iuliet were in.
But Romeus her frend
was entred in before:
And there had wayted for his loue,
two howers large and more.
Eche minute ſeemde an howre,
and euery howre a day:
Twixt hope he liued and deſpayre,
of cumming or of ſtay.
Now wauering hope and feare,
are quite fled out of ſight.
For what he hopde he hath at hande
his pleaſant cheefe delight.
And ioyfull Iuliet
is healde of all her ſmart:
For now the reſt of all her parts,
haue found her ſtraying hart.
Both theyr confeſſions firſt
the fryer hath heard them make:
And then to her with lowder voyce
thus fryer Lawrence ſpake.
Fayre lady Iuliet
my goſtly doughter deere:
As farre as I of Romeus learne
who by you ſtandeth here:
Twixt you it is agreed
that you ſhalbe his wyfe:
And he your ſpouſe in ſteady truth
till death ſhall end your life.
Are you both fully bent
to kepe this great beheſt?
And both the louers ſaid it was
theyr onely harts requeſt.
When he did ſee theyr myndes
in linkes of loue so faſt:
When in the prayſe of wedlocks ſtate
ſomme ſkilfull talke was paſt.
When he had told at length
the wife what was her due:
His duety eke by goſtly talke
the youthfull huſband knew.
How that the wife in loue
muſt honor and obay:
What loue and honor he doth owe,
and dette that he muſt pay.
The woords pronounced were
which holy church of olde
Appointed hath for mariage:
and ſhe a ring of golde
Receiued of Romeus:
and then they both aroſe.
To whom the frier then ſaid, perchaunce
a part you will diſcloſe
Betwixt your ſelfe alone
the bottome of your hart:
Say on at once, for time it is
that hence you ſhould depart.
Then Romeus ſaid to her,
(both loth to part ſo ſoone:)
Fayre lady ſend to me agayne
your nurce this after noone.
Of corde I will beſpeake,
a ladder by that time:
By which, this night, while other ſleepe,
I will your window clime.
Then will we talke of loue,
and of our olde diſpayres:
And then with longer layſure had,
diſpoſe our great affaires.
Theſe ſaid, they kiſſe, and then
part to theyr fathers houſe:
The ioyfull bryde vnto her home,
to his eke goth the ſpouſe.
Contented both, and yet
both vncontented ſtill:
Till night and Venus child, geue leaue
the wedding to fulfill.
The painfull ſouldiour ſore
ybet with wery warre:
The merchant eke that nedefull things
doth dred to fetch from farre:
The plowman that for doute
of feerce inuading foes,
Rather to ſit in ydle eaſe
then ſowe his tilt hath choſe:
Reioyce to heare proclaymd
the tydinges of the peace:
Not pleaſurd with the ſound ſo much:
but when the warres do ceaſe.
Then ceaſed are the harmes
which cruell warre bringes foorth.
The merchant then may boldly fetch,
his wares of precious woorth.
Dredeleſſe the huſband man
doth till his fertile feeld:
For welth her mate, not for her ſelfe,
is peace ſo precious held.
So louers liue in care,
in dread, and in vnreſt:
And dedly warre by ſtriuing thoughts
they kepe within their breſt.
But wedlocke is the peace
wherby is freedome wonne,
To do a thouſand pleaſant thinges
that ſhould not els be donne.
The newes of ended warre
theſe two haue hard with ioy:
But now they long the fruite of peace
with pleaſure to enioy.
In ſtormy wind and waue,
in daunger to be loſt:
Thy ſtearles ſhip (O Romeus)
hath been long while betoſt.
The ſeas are now appeaſd,
and thou by happy ſtarre
Art comme in ſight of quiet hauen:
and now the wrackfull barre
Is hid with ſwelling tyde,
boldly thou mayſt reſort
Unto thy wedded ladies bed,
thy long deſyred port.
God graunt no follies miſt
ſo dymme thy inward ſight,
That thou do miſſe the chanell, that
doth leade to thy delight.
God graunt no daungers rocke
ylurking in the darke
Before thou win the happy port
wracke thy ſea beaten barke.
A ſeruant Romeus had,
of woord and deede ſo iuſt:
That with his life (if nede requierd)
his maſter would him truſt,
His faithfulnes had oft
our Romeus proued of olde
And therfore all that yet was done
vnto his man he tolde.
Who ſtraight as he was charged,
a corden ladder lookes:
To which he hath made faſt two ſtrong
and crooked yron hookes.
The bryde to ſend the nurce
at twylight fayleth not:
To whom the bridegroome yeuen hath.
the ladder that he got.
And then to watch for him
appointeth her an howre:
For whether Fortune ſmyle on him,
or if ſhe liſt to lowre,
He will not miſſe to comme
to his appoynted place,
Where wont he was to take by ſtelth
the view of Iuliets face.
How long theſe louers thought
the laſting of the day,
Let other iudge that woonted are
lyke paſſions to aſſay.
For my part, I do geſſe
eche howre ſeemes twenty yere:
So that I deeme if they might haue
(as of Alcume we heare)
The ſunne bond to theyr will,
if they the heauens might gyde:
Black ſhade of night and doubled darke
ſhould ſtraight all ouer hyde.
Thappointed howre is comme,
he clad in riche araye,
Walkes toward his deſyred home,
good Fortune gyde his way.
Approching nere the place
from whence his hart had life:
So light he wox, he lept the wall,
and there he ſpyde his wife.
Who in the windowe watcht
the cumming of her lorde:
Where ſhe ſo ſurely had made faſt
the ladder made of corde:
That daungerles her ſpouſe
the chaumber window climes,
Where he ere then had wiſht himſelfe
aboue ten thouſand times.
The windowes cloſe are ſhut,
els looke they for no geſt,
To light the waxen quariers,
the auncient nurce is preſt,
Which Iuliet had before
prepared to be light,
That ſhe at pleaſure might beholde
her huſbandes bewty bright.
A Carchef white as ſnowe,
ware Iuliet on her hed,
Such as ſhe wonted was to weare,
attyre meete for the bed.
As ſoone as ſhe him ſpyde,
about his necke ſhe clong:
And by her long and ſlender armes
a great while there ſhe hong.
A thouſand times ſhe kiſt,
and him vnkiſt agayne:
Ne could ſhe ſpeake a woord to him
though would ſhe nere ſo fayne.
And like betwixt his armes
to faynt his lady is:
She fettes a ſigh, and clappeth cloſe
her cloſed mouth to his.
And ready then to ſownde
ſhe looked ruthfully:
That loe, it made him both at once
to liue and eke to dye.
Theſe piteous painfull panges
were haply ouerpaſt:
And ſhe vnto her ſelfe agayne
retorned home at laſt.
Then through her troubled breſt,
euen from the fartheſt part,
An hollow ſigh, a meſſenger
ſhe ſendeth from her hart.
O Romeus quoth ſhe,
in whome all vertues ſhyne:
Welcome thou art into this place
where from theſe eyes of myne,
Such teary ſtreames dyd flowe,
that I ſuppoſe welny
The ſource of all my bitter teares
is altogether drye.
Abſence ſo pynde my heart,
which on thy preſence fed:
And of thy ſafetie and thy health
ſo much I ſtood in dred.
But now what is decreed
by fatall deſteny:
I force it not, let Fortune do
and death their woorſt to me.
Full recompenſd am I
for all my paſſed harmes,
In that the Gods haue graunted me
to claſpe thee in myne armes.
The chriſtall teares began
to ſtand in Romeus eyes,
When he vnto his ladies woordes
gan aunſwere in this wiſe.
Though cruell Fortune be
ſo much my dedly foe:
That I ne can by liuely proofe
cauſe thee (fayre dame) to knowe
How much I am by loue
enthralled vnto thee:
Ne yet what mighty powre thou haſt
by thy deſert on me.
Ne tormentes that for thee
I did ere this endure:
Yet of thus much (ne will I fayne)
I may thee well aſſure.
The leaſt of many paynes
which of thy abſence ſprong:
More paynefully then death it ſelfe
my tender hart hath wroong.
Ere this one death had reft
a thouſand deathes away:
But lyfe prolonged was by hope,
of this deſired day.
Which ſo iuſt tribute payes
of all my paſſed mone:
That I as well contented am,
as if my ſelfe alone
Did from the Occean reigne
vnto the ſea of Inde:
Wherfore now let vs wipe away
old cares out of our mynde.
For as the wretched ſtate
is now redreſt at laſt,
So is it ſkill behinde our backe
the curſed care to caſt.
Since Fortune of her grace
hath place and time aſſinde
Where we with pleaſure may content
our vncontented minde.
In Lethes hyde we deepe
all greefe and all annoy,
Whilſt we do bath in bliſſe, and fill
our hungry harts with ioye.
And for the time to comme,
let be our buſy care:
So wiſely to direct our loue
as no wight els be ware.
Leſt enuious foes by force
deſpoyle our new delight,
And vs throwe backe from happy ſtate
to more vnhappy plight.
Fayre Iuliet began
to aunſwere what he ſayde:
But foorth in haſt the olde nurce ſtept,
and ſo her aunſwere ſtayde.
Who takes not time (quoth ſhe)
when time well offred is,
An other time ſhall ſeeke for time,
and yet of time ſhall miſſe.
And when occaſion ſerues,
who ſo doth let it ſlippe,
Is woorthy ſure (if I might iudge)
of laſhes with a whippe.
Wherfore, if eche of you
hath harmde the other ſo,
And eche of you hath been the cauſe
of others wayled woe,
Loe here a fielde, (ſhe ſhewd
a fieeldbed ready dight)
Where you may, if you liſt, in armes,
reuenge your ſelfe by fight.
Wherto theſe louers both
gan eaſely aſſent,
And to the place of mylde reuenge
with pleaſant cheere they went.
Where they were left alone,
the nurce is gone to reſt:
How can this be? they reſtles lye,
ne yet they feele vnreſt.
I graunt that I enuie
the bliſſe they liued in:
Oh that I might haue found the like.
I wiſh it for no ſin.
But that I might as well
with pen their ioyes depaynt,
As here to fore I haue diſplayd
their ſecret hidden playnt.
Of ſhyuering care and dred,
I haue felt many a fit,
But Fortune ſuch delight as theyrs
dyd neuer graunt me yet.
By proofe no certain truth
can I vnhappy write:
But what I geſſe by likelihod,
that dare I to endite.
The blyndfyld goddeſſe that
with frowning face doth fraye,
And from theyr ſeate the mighty kinges
throwes downe with hedlong ſway:
Begynneth now to turne,
to theſe her ſmyling face,
Nedes muſt they taſt of great delight,
ſo much in Fortunes grace.
If Cupid, God of loue,
be God of pleaſant ſport,
I thinck O Romeus Mars himſelfe
enuies thy happy ſort.
Ne Venus iuſtly might,
(as I ſuppoſe) repent,
If in thy ſtead (O Iuliet)
this pleaſant time ſhe ſpent.
Thus paſſe they foorth the night
in ſport, in ioly game:
The haſtines of Phoebus ſteeds
in great deſpyte they blame.
And now the virgins fort
hath warlike Romeus got,
In which as yet no breache was made
by force of canon ſhot.
And now in eaſe he doth
poſſeſſe the hoped place:
How glad was he, ſpeake you that may
your louers parts embrace?
The mariage thus made vp,
and both the parties pleaſd:
The nigh approche of dayes retoorne
theſe ſeely foles diſeaſd.
And for they might no while
in pleaſure paſſe theyr time,
Ne leyſure had they much to blame
the haſty mornings crime:
With frendly kiſſe in armes
of her his leaue he takes,
And euery other night to come,
a ſolemne othe he makes.
By one ſelfe meane, and eke
to come at one ſelfe howre:
And ſo he doth till Fortune liſt
to ſawſe his ſweete with ſowre.
But who is he that can
his preſent ſtate aſſure?
And ſay vnto himſelf, thy ioyes
ſhall yet a day endure.
So wauering Fortunes whele
her chaunges be ſo ſtraunge.
And euery wight ythralled is
by ſate vnto her chaunge.
Who raignes ſo ouer all,
that eche man hath his part:
(Although not aye perchaunce alike)
of pleaſure and of ſmart.
For after many ioyes,
ſome feele but little payne:
And from that little greefe they toorne
to happy ioy againe.
But other ſomme there are,
that liuing long in woe,
At length they be in quiet eaſe,
but long abide not ſo.
Whoſe greefe is much increaſt
by myrth that went before:
Becauſe the ſodayne chaunge of thinges
doth make it ſeeme the more.
Of this vnlucky ſorte
our Romeus is one
For all his hap turnes to miſhap,
and all his myrth to mone.
And ioyfull Iuliet
an other leafe muſt toorne:
As wont ſhe was (her ioyes bereft)
ſhe muſt begin to moorne.
The ſummer of their bliſſe,
doth laſt a month or twayne:
But winters blaſt with ſpedy foote
doth bring the fall agayne.
Whom glorious fortune erſt
had heaued to the ſkies:
By enuious fortune ouerthrowne
on earth now groueling lyes.
She payd theyr former greefe
with pleaſures doubled gayne:
But now for pleaſures vſery
ten folde redoubleth payne.
The prince could neuer cauſe
thoſe houſholds ſo agree,
But that ſome ſparcles of their wrath,
as yet remaining bee.
Which lye this while raakd vp,
in aſhes pale and ded,
Till tyme do ſerue that they agayne
in waſting flame may ſpred.
At holieſt times men ſay
moſt heynous crimes are donne,
The morowe after Eaſter day
the miſchiefe new begonne.
A band of Capilets
did meete (my hart it rewes)
Within the walles by Purſers gate,
a band of Montagewes.
The Capilets as cheefe,
a yong man haue choſe out:
Beſt exerciſd in feates of armes,
and nobleſt of the rowte.
Our Iuliets vnkles ſonne
that cliped was Tibalt:
He was of body tall and ſtrong,
and of his courage halt.
They neede no trumpet ſounde
to byd them geue the charge,
So lowde he cryde with ftrayned voyce
and mouth out ſtretched large.
Now, now, (quod he) my frends,
our ſelfe ſo let vs wreake,
That of this dayes reuenge, and vs,
our childrens heyres may ſpeake.
Now once for all let vs
their ſwelling pride aſſwage,
Let none of them eſcape aliue,
then he with furious rage
And they with him gaue charge,
vpon they preſent foes,
And then forthwith a ſkyrmiſhe great
vpon this fray aroſe.
For loe, the Montagewes
thought ſhame away to flye,
And rather then to liue with ſhame,
with prayſe did chooſe to dye.
The woordes that Tybalt vſd
to ſtyrre his folke to yre,
Haue in the breſtes of Montegewes
kindled a furious fyre.
With Lyons hartes they fight,
warely themſelfe defende:
To wound his foe, his preſent wit
and force eche one doth bend.
This furious fray is long,
on eche ſide ſtoutly fought,
That whether part had got the woorſt
full doutfull were the thought.
The noyſe hereof anon,
throughout the towne doth flye:
And partes are taken on euery ſide.
both kinreds thether hye.
Here one doth gaſpe for breth,
his frend beſtrideth him,
And he hath loſt a hand, and he
another maymed lim.
His leg is cutte whilſt he
ſtrikes at an other full:
And whō he would haue thruſt quite through
hath cleft his cracked ſkull.
Theyr valiant harts forbode
theyr foote to geue the grounde,
With vnappauled cheere they tooke
full deepe and doutfull wounde.
Thus foote by foote long while,
and ſhield to ſhield ſet faſt:
One foe doth make another faynt
but makes him not agaſt.
And whilſt this noyſe is ryfe
in euery townes mans eare,
Eke walking with his frendes, the noyſe
doth wofull Romeus heare.
With ſpedy foote he ronnes
vnto the fray apace:
With him thoſe fewe that were with him
he leadeth to the place.
They pittie much to ſee
the ſlaughter made ſo greate:
That wetſhod they might ſtand in blood
on eyther ſide the ſtreate.
Part frendes (ſayd he) part frendes,
helpe frendes to part the fray:
And to the reſt, enough (he cryes)
now time it is to ſtaye.
Gods farther wrath you ſtyrre,
beſide the hurt you feele:
And with this new vprore confounde
all this our common wele.
But they ſo buſy are
in fight ſo egar and feerce,
That through theyr eares his ſage aduiſe
no leyſure had to pearce.
Then lept he in the throng,
to part, and barre the blowes,
As well of thoſe that were his frendes:
as of his dedly foes.
As ſoone as Tybalt had
our Romeus eſpyde:
He threw a thruſt at him that would
haue paſt from ſide to ſide.
But Romeus euer went
(douting his foes) well armde:
So that the ſwerd (kept out by mayle)
hath nothing Romeus harmde.
Thou doeſt me wrong (quoth he)
for I but part the fraye,
Not dread, but other waighty cauſe
my haſty hand doth ſtay.
Thou art the cheefe of thine,
the nobleſt eke thou art:
Wherfore leaue of thy malice now,
and helpe theſe folke to parte.
Many are hurt, ſome ſlayne,
and ſome are like to dye.
No, coward traytor boy (ȹ he)
ſtraight way I mynd to trye
Whether thy ſugred talke,
and tong ſo ſmootely fylde:
Againſt the force of this my ſwerd
ſhall ſerue thee for a ſhylde.
And then at Romeus hed,
a blow he ſtrake ſo hard,
That might haue cloue him to the brayne
but for his cunning ward.
It was but lent to him
that could repay agayne:
And geue him death for intereſt,
a well forborne gayne.
Right as a foreſt bore,
that lodged in the thicke,
Pinched with dog, or els with ſpeare
ypricked to the quicke:
His briſtles ſtiffe vpright
vpon his backe doth ſet,
And in his fomy mouth, his ſharp
and crooked tuſkes doth whet.
Or as a Lyon wylde
that rampeth in his rage,
His whelpes bereft, whoſe fury can
no weaker beaſt aſſwage.
Such ſeemed Romeus,
in euery others ſight:
When he him ſhope, of wrong receaude
tauenge himſelfe by fight.
Euen as two thunderboltes,
throwne downe out of the ſkye,
That through the ayre the maſſy earth
and ſeas haue power to flye:
So met theſe two, and while
they chaunge a blowe or twayne,
Our Romeus thruſt him through the throte
and ſo is Tybalt ſlayne.
Loe here the ende of thoſe
that ſtyrre a dedly ſtryfe:
Who thyrſteth after others death,
himſelfe hath loſt his life.
The Capilets are quaylde,
by Tybalts ouerthrowe:
The courage of the Mountagewes,
by Romeus ſight doth growe,
The townes men waren ſtrong,
the prince doth ſend his force:
The fray hath end, the Capilets
do bring the brethles corce,
Before the prince: and craue,
that cruell dedly payne
May be the guerdon of his falt,
that hath their kinſman ſlaine.
The Montagewes do pleade,
theyr Romeus voyde of falt:
The lookers on do ſay, the fight
begonne was by Tybalt.
The prince doth pawſe, and then
geues ſentence in a while,
That Romeus, for ſleying him
ſhould goe into exyle.
His foes would haue him hangde,
or ſterue in priſon ſtrong:
His frendes do think (but dare not ſay)
that Romeus hath wrong.
Both houſholds ſtraight are charged
on payne of loſing lyfe:
Theyr bloudy weapons layd aſide,
to ceaſe the ſtyrred ſtryfe.
This common plage is ſpred,
through all the towne anon:
From ſide to ſyde the towne is fild
with murmour and with mone.
For Tybalts haſty death,
bewayled was of ſomme,
Both for his ſkill in feates of armes,
and for in time to comme:
He ſhould (had this not chaunced)
been riche, and of great powre:
To helpe his frendes, and ſerue the ſtate,
which hope within an howre
Was waſted quite, and he
thus yelding vp his breath,
More then he holpe the towne in lyfe,
hath harmde it by his death.
And other ſomme bewayle,
(but ladies moſt of all)
The lookeles lot by Fortunes gylt,
that is ſo late befall,
(Without his falt,) vnto
the ſeely Romeus,
For whilſt that he from natife land
ſhall liue exyled thus.
From heauenly bewties light,
and his welſhaped parts:
The ſight of which, was wont (faire dames)
to glad your youthfull harts.
Shall you be baniſhd quite:
and tyll he do retoorne
What hope haue you to ioy?
what hope to ceaſe to moorne?
This Romeus was borne
ſo much in heauens grace
Of Fortune, and of nature ſo
beloued, that in his face
(Beſide the heauenly bew=
ty gliſtring ay ſo bright:
And ſeemely grace, that wonted ſo
to glad the ſeers ſight.)
A certain charme was graued
by natures ſecret arte:
That vertue had to draw to it,
the loue of many a hart.
So euery one doth wiſh,
to beare a part of payne:
That he releaſed of exyle,
might ſtraight retorne agayne.
But how doth moorne emong
the moorners Iuliet?
How doth ſhe bathe her breſt in teares?
what depe ſighes doth ſhe fet?
How doth ſhe tear her heare?
her weede how doth ſhe rent?
How fares the louer hearing of
her louers baniſhment?
How wayles ſhe Tibalts death,
whom ſhe had loued ſo well?
Her hearty greefe and piteous plaint,
cunning I want to tell
For deluing depely now
in depth of depe diſpayre:
With wretched ſorowes cruell ſound
ſhe fils the empty ayre.
And to the loweſt hell,
downe falles her heauy crye,
And vp vnto the heauens haight
her piteous plaint doth flye.
The waters and the woods,
of ſighes and ſobs reſounde:
And from the hard reſounding rockes
her ſorowes do rebounde.
Eke from her teary eyne,
downe rayned many a ſhowre:
That in the garden where ſhe walkd
might water herbe and flowre.
But when at length ſhe ſaw
her ſelfe outraged ſo:
Unto her chaumber ſtraight ſhe hide
there ouercharged with wo.
Vpon her ſtately bed,
her painfull parts ſhe threw:
And in ſo wondrous wiſe began
her ſorowes to renewe:
That ſure no hart ſo hard,
(but it of flint had byn:)
But would haue rude the pitious plaint
that ſhe did languiſhe in.
Then rapt out of her ſelfe,
whilſt ſhe on euery ſide
Did caſt her reſtles eye, at length
the windowe ſhe eſpide,
Through which ſhe had with ioy
ſeene Romeus many a time:
Which oft the ventrous knight was wont
For Iuliets ſake toclyme.
She cryde O curſed windowe,
a curſt be euery pane,
Through which (alas) to one I raught
the cauſe of life and bane.
If by thy meane I haue
ſome ſlight delight receaued,
Or els ſuch fading pleaſure as
by Fortune ſtraight was reaued:
Haſt thou not made me pay
a tribute rigorous?
Of heaped greefe, and laſting care:
and ſorowes dolorous?
That theſe my tender partes,
which nedefull ſtrength do lacke,
To beare ſo great vnweldy lode?
vpon ſo weake a backe:
Oppreſt with waight of cares
and with theſe ſorowes rife:
At length muſt open wide to death,
the gates of lothed lyfe.
That ſo my wery ſprite,
may ſomme where els vnlode
His dedly lode, and free from thrall
may ſeeke els where abrode:
For pleaſant quiet eaſe,
and for aſſured reſt,
Which I as yet could neuer finde,
but for my more vnreſt.
O Romeus, when firſt
we both acquainted were,
When to thy paynted promiſes
I lent my liſtning eare:
Which to the brinkes you fild
with many a ſolemne othe,
And I them iudgde empty of gyle,
and fraughted full of troth:
I thought you rather would
continue our good will,
And ſeeke tappeaſe our fathers ſtrife
which daily groweth ſtill.
I little wend you would
haue ſought occaſion how
By ſuch an heynous act to breake
the peace, and eke your vowe
Wherby your bright renoune,
all whole yclipſed is,
And I vnhappy huſbandles,
of cumfort robde, and bliſſe.
But if you did ſo much
the blood of Capels thyrſt,
Why haue you often ſpared mine?
myne might haue quencht it firſt.
Since that ſo many times,
and in ſo ſecret place
(Where you were wont with vele of loue
to hyde your hatreds face.)
My doutfull lyfe hath hapt
by fatall dome to ſtand,
In mercy of your cruell hart,
and of your bloudy hand.
What? ſeemd the conqueſt which
you got of me, ſo ſmall?
What? ſeemd it not enough that I
poore wretch, was made your thrall?
But that you muſt increaſe
it with that kinſmans blood,
Which for his woorth and loue to me
moſt in my fauour ſtood?
Well, goe hencefoorth els where,
and ſeeke another whyle,
Some other as vnhappy as I,
by flattry to begyle.
And where I comme, ſee that
you ſhonne to ſhew your face:
For your excuſe within my hart
ſhall finde no reſting place.
And I that now too late
my former fault repent:
Will ſo the reſt of wery life
with many teares lament:
That ſoone my ioyceles corps,
ſhall yeld vp baniſhd breath,
And where on earth it reſtles liued,
in earth ſeeke reſt by death.
Theſe ſayde, her tender hart,
by payne oppreſſed ſore:
Reſtraynd her teares, and forced her tong
to keepe her talke in ſtore.
And then as ſtill ſhe was,
as if in ſownd ſhe lay:
And then agayne, wroth with her ſelfe,
with feble voyce gan ſay.
Ah cruell murthering tong,
murthrer of others fame:
How durſt thou once attempt to tooch
the honor of his name?
Whoſe dedly foes doe yelde
him dewe and earned prayſe:
For though his fredome be bereft,
his honor not decayes.
Why blamſt thou Romeus
for ſleying of Tybalt,
Since he is gyltles quite of all,
and Tybalt beares the falt?
Whether ſhall he (alas)
poore baniſhd man now flye?
What place of ſuccor ſhall he ſeeke
beneth the ſtarry ſkye?
Synce ſhe purſueth him,
and him defames by wrong:
That in diſtres ſhould be his fort,
and onely rampier ſtrong.
Receiue the recompence,
O Romeus of thy wife:
Who for ſhe was vnkind her ſelfe,
doth offer vp her lyfe.
In flames of yre, in ſighes,
in ſorow and in ruth:
So to reuenge the crime ſhe did
commit againſt thy truth.
Theſe ſaid, ſhe could no more,
her ſenſes all gan fayle:
And dedly panges began ſtraight way
her tender hart aſſayle.
Her limmes ſhe ſtretched forth,
ſhe drew no more her breath,
Who had been there, might well haue ſeene
the ſigness of preſent death.
The nurce that knew no cauſe,
why ſhe abſented her,
Did doute leſt that ſome ſodain greefe
too much tormented her.
Eche where but where ſhe was
the carefull Beldam ſought,
Laſt, of the chamber where ſhe lay,
ſhe haply her bethought.
Where ſhe with piteous eye,
her nurce childe did beholde:
Her limmes ſtretched out, her vtward parts
as any marble colde.
The nurce ſuppoſde that ſhe
had payde to death her det:
And then as ſhe had loſt her wittes,
ſhe cryed to Iuliet.
Ah my dere hart (quoth ſhe)
how greeueth me thy death?
Alas what cauſe haſt thou thus ſoone,
to yelde vp liuing breath?
But while ſhe handled her,
and chafed euery part,
She knew there was ſome ſparke of life
by beating of her hart.
So that a thouſand times
ſhe cald vpon her name,
There is no way to helpe a traunce,
but ſhe hath tryde the ſame.
She openeth wide her mouth,
ſhe ſtoppeth cloſe her noſe,
She bendeth downe her breſt, ſhe wringes
her fingers and her toes.
And on her boſome colde,
ſhe layeth clothes hot,
A warmed and a holeſome iuyce
ſhe powreth downe her throte.
At length doth Iuliet,
heaue fayntly vp her eyes,
And then ſhe ſtretcheth forth her arme,
and then her nurce ſhe ſpyes.
But when ſhe was awakde,
from her vnkindly traunce:
Why doſt thou trouble me (quoth ſhe)
what draue thee (with miſchaunce)
To come to ſee my ſprite,
forſake my brethles corce?
Goe hence, and let me dye, if thou
haue on my ſmart remorſe.
For who would ſee her frend
to liue in dedly payne?
Alas, I ſee my greefe begoone,
for euer will remayne.
Or who would ſeeke to liue,
all pleaſure being paſt?
My myrth is donne, my moorning mone
for ay is like to laſt.
Wherfore ſince that there is
none other remedy,
Comme gentle death, and ryue my hart,
at once, and let my dye.
The nurce with tricling teares,
to witnes inward ſmart,
With holow ſigh fetchd from the depth,
of her appauled hart.
Thus ſpake to Iuliet,
yclad with ougly care.
Good lady myne, I do not know
what makes you thus to fare.
Ne yet the cauſe of your
vnmeaſurde heauines.
But of this one I you aſſure,
for care and ſorowes ſtreſſe,
This hower large and more,
I thought (ſo god me ſaue)
That my dead corps ſhould wayte on yours,
to your vntimely graue.
Alas my tender nurce,
and truſty frend (quoth ſhe)
Art thou ſo blinde, that with thine eye,
thou canſt not eaſely ſee
The lawfull cauſe I haue,
to ſorow and to moorne,
Since thoſe the which I hyld moſt deere
I haue at once forlorne?
Her nurce then aunſwerd thus.
Me thinkes it ſits you yll,
To fall in theſe extremities
that may you gyltles ſpill.
For when the ſtormes of care,
and troubles do aryſe,
Then is the time for men to know,
the fooliſh from the wiſe.
You are accounted wiſe,
a foole am I your nurce:
But I ſee not how in like caſe
I could be haue me wurſe.
Tibalt your frend is ded,
what weene you by your teares,
To call him backe againe? thinke you
that he your crying heares?
You ſhall perceue the falt,
(if it be iuſtly tryde)
Of his ſo ſodayn death, was in
his raſhnes and his pryde.
Would you that Romeus,
him ſelfe had wronged ſo,
To ſuffer himſelfe cauſeles to be
outraged of his foe?
To whom in no reſpect,
he ought a place to geue?
Let it ſuffiſe to thee fayre dame,
that Romeus doth liue.
And that there is good hope
that he within a while,
With greater glory ſhalbe calde
home from his hard exile.
How wel yborne he is,
thy ſelfe I know canſt tell:
By kindred ſtrong, and well alyed,
of all beloued well.
With patience arme thy ſelfe,
for though that Fortunes cryme
Without your falt, to both your greefes
depart you for a time.
I dare ſay for amendes
of all your preſent payne
She will reſtore your owne to you,
within a month or twayne.
With ſuch contented eaſe,
as neuer erſt you had:
Wherfore reioyce a while in hope,
and be ne more ſo ſad.
And that I may diſcharge
your hart of heauy care:
A certaine way I haue found out,
my paynes ne will I ſpare.
To learne his preſent ſtate,
and what in time to comme
He mindes to doe, which knowne by me,
you ſhall know all and ſomme.
But that I dread the whilſt
your ſorowes will you quell,
Straight would I hye where he doth lurke
to frier Lawrence cell.
But if you gyn eftſones
(as erſt you did) to moorne
Wherto goe I, you will be ded
before I thence retoorne.
So I ſhall ſpend in waſt,
my time, and buſy payne,
So vnto you (your life once loſt)
good aunſwere commes in vayne.
Soſhall I ridde my ſelfe
with this ſharpe pointed knife:
So ſhall you cauſe your parents derre
wax wery of theyr life.
So ſhall your Romeus,
(deſpyſing liuely breath,)
With haſty foote (before his tyme)
ronne to vntimely death.
Where if you can a while,
by reaſon, rage ſuppreſſe,
I hope at my retorne to bring
the ſalue of your diſtreſſe.
Now chooſe to haue me here
a partner of your payne,
Or promoſſe me, to feede on hope,
till I retorne agayne.
Her miſtres ſendes her forth,
and makes a graue beheſt,
With reaſons rayne to rule the thoughts
that rage within her breſt.
When hugy heapes of harmes,
are heapd before her eyes,
Then vaniſh they by hope of ſcape,
and thus the lady lyes,
Twixt well aſſured truſt.
and doutfull lewd diſpayre,
Now blacke and ougly be her thoughts:
now ſeeme they white and fayre.
As oft in ſummer tide,
blacke cloudes do dimme the ſonne,
And ſtraight againe in cleareſt ſkye
his reſtles ſteedes do ronne,
So Iuliets wandring mynd
yclowded is with woe,
And by and by her haſty thought
the woes doth ouergoe.
But now is time to tell
whilſt ſhe was toſſed thus
What windes did driue or hauen did hold
her louer, louer Romeus
When he had ſlayne his foe,
that gan this dedly ſtrife,
And ſaw the furious fray had ende,
by ending Tybalts life:
He fled the ſharpe reuenge
of thoſe that yet did liue,
And douting much what penall doome
the troubled prince myght gyue,
He ſought ſome where vnſeene,
to lurke a little ſpace,
And truſty Lawrence ſecret cell,
he thought the ſureſt place.
In doutfull happe ay beſt,
a truſty frend is tride,
The frendly fryer in this diſtreſſe,
doth graunt his frend to hyde.
A ſecret place he hath,
well ſeeled round about,
The mouth of which, ſo cloſe is ſhut,
that none may finde it out.
Both roome there is to walke,
and place to ſitte and reſt,
Beſide, a bed to ſleape vpon,
full ſoft and trimly dreſt.
The flowre is planked ſo
with mattes, it is ſo warme.
That neither wind, nor ſmoky damps
haue powre him ought to harme.
Where he was wont in youth,
his fayre frendes to beſtowe,
There now he hydeth Romeus
whilſt forth he goeth to knowe
Both what is ſayd and donne,
and what appoynted payne,
Is publiſhed by trumpets ſound.
then home he hyes agayne.
By this, vnto his cell,
the nurce with ſpedy pace:
Was comme the nereſt way: ſhe ſought,
no ydel reſting place.
The fryer ſent home the newes
of Romeus certain helth:
And promeſſe made (what ſo befell)
he ſhould that night by ſtelth
Comme to his wonted place
that they in nedefull wiſe
Of theyr affayres in time to comme,
might thorowly deuyſe.
Thoſe ioyfull newes, the nurce
brought home with mery ioy:
And now our Iuliet ioyes, to thinke,
ſhe ſhall her loue enioye.
The fryer ſhuts faſt his doore,
and then to him beneth.
That waytes to heare the doutefull newes
of lyfe orels of death:
Thy hap quoth he, is good,
daunger of death is none:
But thou ſhalt liue, and doe full well,
in ſpite of ſpitefull fone.
This onely payne for thee
was erſt proclaymde aloude,
A baniſhd man, thou mayſt thee not
within Verona ſhroude.
Theſe heauy tydinges heard,
his golden lockes he tare:
And like a frantike man hath torne
the garmentes that he ware.
And as the ſmitten deere,
in brakes is waltring found:
So waltreth he, and with his breſt
doth beate the troden grounde.
He riſeth eft, and ſtrikes
his head againſt the wals,
He falleth downe againe, and lowde
for haſty death he cals.
Come ſpedy death (quoth he)
the readieſt leache in loue,
Since nought can els beneth the ſunne
the ground of griefe remoue.
Of lothſome life breake downe
the hated ſtaggering ſtayes,
Deſtroy, deſtroy at once the lyfe
that faintly yet decayes.
But you (fayre damein whome
dame nature dyd deuiſe,
With cunning hand to woorke, that might
ſeeme wondrous in our eyes:
For you I pray the Gods,
your pleaſures to increaſe,
And all miſhap, with this my death,
for euermore to ceaſe.
And mighty Ioue with ſpeede,
of iuſtice bring them lowe,
Whoſe lofty pryde (without our gylt)
our bliſſe doth ouerblowe.
And Cupide graunt to thoſe
theyr ſpedy wrongs redreſſe,
That ſhall bewayle my cruell death,
and pity her diſtreſſe.
Therewith, a cloude of ſighes,
he breathd into the ſkies:
And two great ſtreames of bitter teares,
ran from his ſwollen eyes.
Theſe thinges, the auncient fryre,
with ſorow ſaw, and heard,
Of ſuch begynning eke, the ende,
the wiſe man greatly feard.
But loe, he was ſo weake,
by reaſon of his age,
That he ne could by force, repreſſe
the rigour of his rage.
His wiſe and frendly woordes,
he ſpeaketh to the ayre:
For Romeus ſo vexed is,
with care and with diſpayre,
That no aduiſe can perce,
his cloſe forſtopped eares:
So now the fryer doth take his part,
in ſhedding ruthfull teares.
With colour pale, and wan,
with armes full hard yfold,
With wofull cheere, his wayling frend,
he ſtandeth to beholde.
And then, our Romeus.
with tender handes ywrong:
With voyce, with plaint made horce, wt ſobs,
and with a foltring tong,
Renewd with nouel mone
the dolours of his hart,
His outward dreery cheere bewrayde,
his ſtore of inward ſmart.
Fyrſt, nature did he blame,
the author of his lyfe,
In which his ioyes had been ſo ſcant,
and ſorowes aye ſo ryfe:
The time and place of byrth,
he fierſly did reproue,
He cryed out (with open mouth)
againſt the ſtarres aboue:
The fatall ſiſters three,
he ſaid, had done him wrong,
The threed that ſhould not haue been ſponne
they had drawne foorth too long.
He wiſhed that he had
before this time been borne,
Or that as ſoone as he wan light,
his life he had forlorne.
His nurce he curſed, and
the hand that gaue him pappe,
The midwife eke with tender grype
that held him in her lappe:
And then did he complaine,
on Venus cruel ſonne
Who led him firſt vnto the rockes,
which he ſhould warely ſhonne.
By meane wheros he loſt,
both lyfe and libertie,
And dyed a hundred times a day,
and yet could neuer dye.
Loues troubles laſten long,
the ioyes he geues are ſhort:
He forceth not a louers payne,
theyr erneſt is his ſport.
A thouſand thinges and more,
I here let paſſe to write,
Which vnto loue this wofull man,
dyd ſpeake in great deſpite.
On Fortune eke he raylde,
he calde her deafe, and blynde,
Unconſtant, fond, deceitfull raſhe,
vnruthfull, and vnkynd.
And to him ſelf he layd
a great part of the falt:
For that he ſlewe, and was not ſlayne,
in fighting with Tibalt.
He blamed all the world,
and all he did defye
But Iuliet, for whom he liued,
for whom eke would he dye.
When after raging fits,
appeaſed was his rage,
And when his paſſions (powred forth)
gan partly to aſſwage.
So wiſely did the fryre,
vnto his tale replye,
That he ſtraight cared for his life,
that erſt had care to dye.
Art thou quoth he a man?
thy ſhape ſaith ſo thou art:
Thy crying and thy weping eyes,
denote a womans hart.
For manly reaſon is
quite from of thy mynd outchaſed,
And in her ſtead affections lewd,
and fanſies highly placed.
So that, I ſtoode in doute
this howre (at the leaſt)
If thou a man, or woman wert,
or els a brutiſh beaſt.
A wiſe man in the midſt
of troubles and diſtres,
Still ſtandes not wayling preſent harme,
but ſeeks his harmes redres,
As when the winter flawes,
with dredfull noyſe ariſe,
And heaue the fomy ſwelling waues
vp to the ſtarry ſkies,
So that the brooſed barke
in cruell ſeas betoſt,
Diſpayreth of the happy hauen
in daunger to be loſt.
The pylate bold at helme,
cryes, mates ſtrike now your ſayle:
And tornes her ſtemme into the waues
that ſtrongly her aſſayle.
Then driuen hard vpon
the bare and wrackfull ſhore,
In greater daunger to be wract,
then he had been before.
He ſeeth his ſhip full right
againſt the rocke to ronne,
But yet he dooth what lyeth in him
the perilous rocke to ſhonne.
Sometimes the beaten boate,
by cunning gouernment,
The ancors loſt, the cables broke,
and all the tackle ſpent.
The roder ſmitten of,
and ouer boord the maſt,
Doth win the long deſyred porte,
the ſtormy daunger paſt.
But if the maſter dread,
and ouerpreſt with woe,
Begin to wring his handes, and lets
the gyding rodder goe
The ſhip rents on the rocke,
or ſinketh in the deepe,
And eke the coward drenched is,
So: if thou ſtill be weepe
And ſeke not how to helpe
the chaunges that do chaunce,
Thy cauſe of ſorow ſhall increaſe,
thou cauſe of thy miſchaunce.
Other account thee wiſe,
prooue not thy ſelfe a foole,
Now put in practiſe leſſons learnd,
of old in wiſdomes ſchoole,
The wiſe man ſaith, beware
thou double not thy payne:
For one perhaps thou mayſt abyde,
but hardly ſuffer twayne.
As well we ought to ſeeke
thinges hurtfull to decreaſe,
As to endeuor helping thinges
by ſtudy to increaſe.
The prayſe of trew fredom,
in wiſdomes bondage lyes
He winneth blame whoſe deedes be fonde,
although his woords be wiſe.
Sickenes the bodies gayle,
greefe, gayle is of the mynd,
If thou canſt ſcape from heauy greefe,
true fredome ſhalt thou finde.
Fortune can fill nothing,
ſo full of hearty greefe,
But in the ſame a conſtant mynd,
finds ſolace and releefe,
Uertue is alwayes thrall,
to troubles and annoye,
But wiſdome in aduerſitie,
findes cauſe of quiet ioye.
And they moſt wretched are,
that know no wretchednes:
And after great extremity,
miſhaps ay waxen leſſe.
Like as there is no weale,
but waſtes away ſomtime,
So euery kind of wayled woe,
will weare away in time.
If thou wilt maſter quite,
the troubles that the ſpill,
Endeuor firſt by reaſons help,
to maſter witles will.
A ſondry medſon hath,
eche ſondry faynt diſeaſe,
But pacience, a common ſalue,
to euery wound geues eaſe.
The world is alway full
of chaunces and of chaunge,
Wherfore the chaunge of chaunce muſt not
ſeeme to a wiſe man ſtraunge.
For tickel Fortune doth,
in chaunging but her kind:
But all her chaunges cannot chaunge,
a ſteady conſtant minde.
Though wauering Fortune toorne
from thee her ſmyling face,
And ſorow ſeeke to ſet him ſelfe,
in baniſhd pleaſures place,
Yet may thy marred ſtate,
be mended in a while,
And ſhe eftſones that frowneth now,
with pleaſant cheere ſhall ſmyle.
For as her happy ſtate,
no long whyle ſtandeth ſure,
Euen ſo the heauy plight ſhe brings,
not alwayes doth endure.
What nede ſo many woordes,
to thee that art ſo wyſe?
Thou better canſt aduiſe thy ſelfe,
then I can thee aduyſe.
Wiſdome I ſee is vayne,
if thus in time of neede,
A wiſe mans wit vnpractiſed,
doth ſtand him in no ſteede.
I know thou haſt ſome cauſe,
of ſorow and of care:
But well I wot thou haſt no cauſe
thus frantikly to fare.
Affections foggy miſt,
thy febled ſight doth blynde,
But if that reaſons beames agayne,
might ſhine into thy mynde:
If thou wouldſt view thy ſtate
with an indifferent eye,
I thinke thou wouldſt condemne thy plaint,
thy ſighing and thy crye.
With valiant hand thou madeſt
thy foe yeld vp his breth,
Thou haſt eſcapd his ſwerd, and eke
the lawes that threatten death.
By thy eſcape, thy frendes,
are fraughted full of ioy,
And by his death thy deadly foes
are laden with annoy
Wilt thou with truſty frendes,
of pleaſure take ſome part?
Or els to pleaſe thy hatefull foes,
be partner of theyr ſmart?
Why cryeſt thou out on loue,
why doeſt thou blame thy fate?
Why doſt thou ſo crye after death?
thy life why doſt thou hate?
Doſt thou repent the choyce,
that thou ſo late didſt chooſe?
Loue is thy Lord, thou oughteſt obay,
and not thy prince accuſe.
For thou haſt found (thou knowſt)
great fauour in his ſight:
He graunted thee at thy requeſt,
thy onely hartes delight:
So that the Gods enuyde
the bliſſe thou liuedſt in,
To geue to ſuch vnthankefull men,
is folly and a ſin.
Me thinkes I heare thee ſay
the cruell baniſhment,
Iſ onely cauſe of thy vnreſt,
onely thou doſt lament,
That from thy natife land,
and frendes thou muſt depart,
Enforſd to flye from her that hath
the keping of thy hart.
And ſo oppreſt with waight
of ſmart that thou doſt feele,
Thou doſt complaine of Cupides brand,
and Fortunes turning wheele.
Vnto a valiant hart,
there is no baniſhment,
All countreys are his natiue ſoyle
beneath the firmament.
As to the fiſhe, the ſea:
as to the fowle, the ayre:
So is like pleaſant to the wiſe,
eche place of his repayre.
Though froward Fortune chaſe
thee hence into exyle:
With doubled honor ſhall ſhe call
thee home within a whyle.
Admyt thou ſhouldſt abyde
abrode a yere or twayne:
Should ſo ſhort abſence cauſe ſo long,
and eke ſo greeuous payne?
Though thou ne mayſt thy frendes,
here in Verona ſee,
They are not baniſhd Mantua,
where ſafely thou maſt be.
Thether they may reſort,
though thou reſort not hether,
And there in ſuretie may you talke,
of your affayres together.
Yea, but this whyle (alas)
thy Iuliet muſt thou miſſe,
The onely piller of thy helth,
and ancor of thy bliſſe.
Thy hart thou leaueſt with her,
when thou doſt hence depart:
And in thy breſt incloſed bearſt,
her tender frendly hart.
But if thou rew ſo much,
to leaue the reſt behinde,
With thought of paſſed ioyes, content
thy vncontented mynde.
So ſhall the mone decreaſe,
wherwith thy mynd doth melt,
Compared to the heauenly ioyes
which thou haſt often felt.
He is too nyſe a weakeling,
that ſhrinketh at a ſhowre,
And he vnworthy of the ſweete,
that taſteth not the ſowre.
Call now againe to mynde,
thy firſt conſuming flame,
How didſt thou vainely burne in loue
of an vnlouing dame.
Hadſt thou not welnigh wept,
quite out thy ſwelling eyne:
Did not thy parts fordoon with payne,
languiſhe away and pyne?
Thoſe greefes and others like,
were happly ouerpaſt:
And thou in haight of Fortunes wheele,
well placed at the laſt:
From whence thou art now falne,
that rayſed vp agayne,
With greater ioy a greater while
in pleaſure mayſt thou raygne.
Compare the preſent while,
with times ypaſt before,
And thinke that Fortune hath for thee,
great pleaſure yet in ſtore.
The whilſt, this little wrong,
receiue thou paciently,
And what of force muſt nedes be done,
that doe thou willingly.
Foly it is to feare
that thou canſt not auoyde
And madnes to deſire it much,
that can not be enioyde.
To geue to Fortune place,
not ay deſerueth blame:
But ſkill it is, according to
the times, thy ſelfe to frame.
Whilſt to this ſkilfull lore;
he lent his liſtning eares:
His ſighes are ſtopt, and ſtopped are
the conduits of his teares.
As blackeſt cloudes are chaced,
by winters nimble winde:
So haue his reaſons chaced care,
out of his carefull mynde.
As of a morning fowle,
enſues an euening fayre:
So baniſht hope returneth home,
to baniſh his deſpayre.
Now is affections veale,
remoued from his eyes.
He ſeeth the path that he muſt walke,
and reſon makes him wiſe.
For very ſhame, the blood
doth flaſhe in both his cheekes:
He thankes the father for his lore,
and farther ayde he ſeekes.
He ſayth that ſkilles youth,
for counſell is vnfitte,
And anger oft with haſtines
are ioind to want of witte.
But ſound aduiſe aboundes
in heddes with horiſhe heares:
For wiſdom is by practiſe wonne,
and perfect made by yeares.
But aye from this time forth,
his ready bending will:
Shalbe in awe, and gouerned,
by fryer Lawrence ſkill.
The gouernor is nowe,
right carefull of his charge:
To whom he doth wiſely diſcoorſe,
of his affaires at large.
He telles him how he ſhall,
depart the towne vnknowne,
Both mindfull of his frendes ſafetie,
and carefull of his owne.
How he ſhall gyde him ſelfe,
how he ſhall ſeeke to winne,
The frendſhip of the better ſort,
how warely to crepe in
The fauour of the Mantuan prince:
and how he may
Appeaſe the wrath of Eſcalus:
and wipe the fault away.
The choller of his foes,
by gentle meanes taſſwage:
Or els by force and practiſes,
to bridle quite theyr rage.
And laſt he chargeth him,
at his appointed howre,
To goe with manly mery cheere,
vnto his ladies bowre.
And there with hole ſome woordes,
to ſalue her ſorowes ſmart:
And to reuiue, (if nede require)
her faint and dying hart.
The old mans woords haue fild
with ioy, our Romeus breſt:
And eke the olde wiues talke, hath ſet
our Iuliets hart at reſt.
Whereto may I compare,
(O louers) this your day?
Like dayes the painefull mariners,
are woonted to aſſay.
For beat with tempeſt great,
when they at length, eſpye
Some little beame of Phoebus light,
that perceth through the ſkie,
To cleare the ſhadowde earth,
by clearenes of his face:
They hope that dreadles, they ſhall ronne
the remnant of their race.
Yea, they aſſure them ſelfe:
and quite behynd theyr backe,
They caſt all doute, and thanke the Gods
for ſcraping of the wracke.
But ſtraight the boyſterous windes,
with greater fury blowe,
And ouer boord the broken maſt,
the ſtormy blaſtes doe throwe.
The heauens large, are clad
with cloudes, as darke as hell:
And twiſe as hye, the ſtriuing waues
begin to roare, and ſwell.
With greater daungers dred,
the men are vexed more:
In greater perill of their lyfe,
then they had been before.
The golden ſonne, was gonne
to lodge him in the weſt:
The full moone eke in yonder ſouth,
had ſent moſt men to reſt:
When reſtles Romeus,
and reſtles Iuliet,
In woonted ſort, by woonted meane,
in Iuliets chaumber met.
And from the windowes top,
downe had he leaped ſcarce,
When ſhe with armes outſtretched wide,
ſo hard did him embrace,
That welnigh had the ſprite
(not forced by dedly force)
Flowne vnto death, before the time
abandoning the corce.
Thus muet ſtoode they both,
the eight part of an howre
And both would ſpeake, but neither had
of ſpeaking any powre.
But on his breſt her hed
doth ioyleſſe Iuliet lay,
And on her ſlender necke, his chyn
doth ruthfull Romeus ſtay.
Their ſcalding ſighes aſcende,
and by their cheekes downe fall,
Their trickling teares, as chriſtall cleare,
but bitterer farre then gall.
Then he to end the greefe,
which both they liued in,
Did kyſſe his loue, and wiſely thus
hys tale he dyd begin.
My Iuliet, my loue,
my onely hope and care:
To you I purpoſe not as now,
with length of woords declare,
The diuerſenes, and eke
the accidents ſo ſtraunge,
Of frayle vnconſtant Fortune, that
delyteth ſtill in chaunge.
Who in a moment heaues
her frendes vp to the height,
Of her ſwift turning ſlippery wheele,
then fleetes her frendſhip ſtraight,
O wondrous chaunge, euen with
the twinkling of an eye,
Whom erſt her ſelfe had raſhly ſet,
in pleaſant place ſo hye?
The ſame in great deſpyte,
downe hedlong doth ſhe throwe:
And while ſhe treades and ſpurneth at
the lofty ſtate laid lowe,
More ſorow doth ſhe ſhape
within an howers ſpace,
Then pleaſure in an hundred yeres:
ſo geyſon is her grace.
The proofe wherof in me
(alas) too plaine apperes,
Whom tenderly my carefull frendes
haue foſtered with my feers,
In proſperous high degree:
mayntayned ſo by fate,
That (as your ſelfe did ſee) my foes
enuyde my noble ſtate.
One thing there was, I did
aboue the reſt deſire,
To which, as to the ſoueraigne good,
by hope I would aſpyre:
That by our mariage meane,
we might within a while,
(To woorke our perfect happines)
our parentes reconſile.
That ſafely ſo we might
(not ſtopt by ſturdy ſtrife)
Unto the boundes that God hath ſet,
gyde forth our pleaſant lyfe.
But now (alacke) too ſoone
my bliſſe is ouerblowne,
And vpſide downe my purpoſe and
my enterpriſe are throwne,
And driuen from my frendes,
of ſtraungers muſt I craue,
(O graunt it God) from daungers dread,
that I may ſuertie haue.
For loe, henceforth I muſt,
wander in landes vnknowne:
(ſo hard I finde the princes doome,)
exyled from mine owne.
Which thing I haue thought good,
to ſet before your eyes:
And to exhort you, now to proue
your ſelfe a woman wiſe.
That paciently, you beare
my abſent long abod.
For, what aboue by fatall doomes
decreed is that God,
And more then this, to ſay
it ſeemed he was bent,
But Iuliet, in dedly greefe,
with brackiſh teares beſprent,
Brake of his tale begonne,
and whilſt his ſpeche he ſtayde,
Theſe ſelfe ſame wordes, or like to theſe,
with dreery chere ſhe ſayde.
Why Romeus, can it be,
thou haſt ſo hard a hart?
So farre remoued from ruth? ſo farre
from thinking on my ſmart?
To leaue me thus alone?
(thou cauſe of my diſtreſſe)
Beſeged with ſo great a campe,
of mortall wretchedneſſe,
That euery hower now,
and moment in a day,
A thouſand times, death bragges, as he
would reaue my life away.
Yet ſuch is my miſhap,
(O cruell deſtenye)
That ſtill I liue, and wiſh for death,
but yet can neuer dye.
So that iuſt cauſe I haue,
to thinke (as ſeemeth me)
That froward Fortune did of late,
with cruell death agree
To lengthen lothed life,
to pleaſure in my payne,
And tryumph in my harme, as in
the greateſt hoped gayne.
And thou the inſtrument
of Fortunes cruell will,
Without whoſe ayde ſhe can no way,
her tyrans luſt fulfill:
Art not a whit aſhamde,
(as farre as I can ſee)
To caſt me of, when thou haſt culd
the better part of me.
Wherby (alas) to ſoone,
I ſeely wretch do proue,
That all the auncient ſacred lawes,
of frendſhip and of loue,
Are quelde and quenched quite.
ſince he on whom alway,
My cheefe hope, and my ſteady truſt,
was wonted ſtill to ſtay,
For whom I am becomme,
vnto my ſelfe a foe:
Diſdayneth me his ſtedfaſt frend,
and ſcornes my frendſhip ſo.
Nay Romeus, nay, thou mayſt
of two thinges chooſe the one:
Either to ſee thy caſtaway
as ſoone as thou art gone,
Hedlong to throw her ſelfe
downe from the windowes haight,
And ſo to breake her ſlender necke,
with all the bodies waight.
Or ſuffer her to be
companion of thy payne,
Where ſo thou goe (Fortune thee gyde)
till thou retoorne agayne.
So wholy into thine,
tranſformed is my hart,
That euen as oft as I do thinke
that thou and I ſhall part:
So oft (me thinkes) my life
withdrawes it ſelfe awaye,
Which I retayne, to no end els,
but to the end I may
In ſpite of all thy foes,
thy preſent partes enioye,
And in diſtres to beare with thee,
the halfe of thine annoye.
Wherfore in humble ſort
(Romeus) I make requeſt,
If euer tender pity yet,
were lodgde in gentle breſt,
O let it now haue place,
to reſt within thy hart,
Receaue me as thy ſeruant, and
the fellow of thy ſmart.
Thy abſence is my death,
thy ſight ſhall geue me life.
But if perhaps thou ſtand in dred,
to leade me as a wyfe,
Art thou all counſelleſſe,
canſt thou no ſhift deuiſe?
What letteth, but in other weede
I may my ſelfe diſguyſe.
What, ſhall I he the firſt?
hath none done ſo ere this?
To ſcape the bondage of theyr frendes?
thy ſelfe can aunſwer yes.
Or doſt thou ſtand in doute,
that I thy wife ne can,
By ſeruice pleaſure thee as much,
as may thy hyred man?
Or iſ my loyalte
of both accompted leſſe?
Perhaps thou fearſt leſt I for gayne,
forſake thee in diſtreſſe.
What, hath my bewty now,
no powre at all on you?
Whoſe brightnes, force, and praiſe ſomtime,
vp to the ſkyes you blew?
My teares, my frendſhip, and
my pleaſures donne of olde:
Shall they be quite forgote in dede?
when Romeus dyd behold
The wildnes of her looke,
her cooler pale and ded,
The woorſt of all that might betyde
to her, he gan to dred.
And once agayne he dyd
in armes his Iuliet take:
And kiſt her with a louing kyſſe,
And thus to her he ſpake.
Ah Iuliet (quoth he)
the miſtres of my hart,
For whom (euen now) thy ſeruant doth
abyde in dedly ſmart,
Euen for the happy dayes
which thou deſyreſt to ſee,
And for the feruent frendſhips ſake
that thou doſt owe to me:
At once theſe fanſies vayne,
out of thy mynd roote out,
Except perhaps vnto thy blame,
thou fondly go about
To haſten forth my death,
and to thine owne to ronne:
Which Natures law, and wiſdoms lore
teache euery wight to ſhonne.
For, but thou chaunge thy mynde,
(I do foretell the ende)
Thou ſhalt vndoo thy ſelfe for ay,
and me thy truſty frende.
For why, thy abſence knowne,
thy father wilbe wroth,
And in his rage, ſo narowly
he will purſue vs both:
That we ſhall trye in vayne,
to ſcape away by flight,
And vainely ſeeke a loorking place,
to hyde vs from his ſight.
Then we found out, and caught,
quite voyde of ſtrong defence
Shall cruelly be puniſhed,
for thy departure hence.
I, as a rauiſhor,
thou, as a careles childe,
I, as a man who doth defile,
thou, as a mayde defilde.
Thinking to leade in eaſe,
a long contented life,
Shall ſhort our dayes by ſhamefull death.
But (if my louing wife)
Thou baniſh from thy mynde,
two foes that counſell hath:
(That wont to hinder ſound aduiſe)
raſhe haſtines, and wrath:
If thou be bent to bay
the lore of reaſons ſkill,
And wiſely by her princely powre
ſuppreſſe rebelling will:
If thou our ſafetie ſeeke,
more then thine owne delight,
Since ſuerty ſtandes in parting, and
thy pleaſures growe of ſight:
For heare the cauſe of ioy,
and ſuffer for a while,
So ſhall I ſafely liue abrode,
and ſafe torne from exile.
So ſhall no ſlaunders blot,
thy ſpotles life deſtayne,
So ſhall thy kinſmen be vnſtyrd,
and I exempt from payne.
And thinke thou not that aye,
the cauſe of care ſhall laſt,
Theſe ſtormy broyles ſhall ouerblow,
much like a winters blaſt.
For Fortune chaungeth more,
then fickel fantaſie,
In nothing Fortune conſtant is,
ſaue in vnconſtancie.
Her haſty ronning wheele,
is of a reſtles coorſe,
That turnes the clymers hedlong downe,
from better to the woorſe.
And thoſe that are beneth,
ſhe heaueth vp agayne,
So we ſhall riſe to pleaſures mount,
out of the pit of payne.
Ere fowre monthes ouerpaſſe,
ſuch order will I take,
And by my letters, and my frendes,
ſuch meanes I mynd to make,
That of my wandring race,
ended ſhalbe the toyle,
And I cald home with honor great,
vnto my natiue ſoyle.
But if I be condemd
to wander ſtill in thrall,
I will returne to you (mine owne)
befall what may befall.
And then by ſtrength of frendes,
and with a mighty hand,
From Verone will I cary thee,
into a forein lande.
Not in mans weede diſguiſd,
or as one ſcarcely knowne,
But as my wife and onely feere,
in garment of thyne owne.
Wherfore repreſſe at once,
the paſſions of thy hart,
And where there is no cauſe of greefe,
cauſe hope to heale thy ſmart.
For of this one thing thou
mayſt well aſſured bee:
That nothing els but onely death
ſhall ſunder me from thee.
The reaſons that he made,
did ſeeme of ſo great waight,
And had with her ſuch force: that ſhe
to him gan aunſwer ſtraight.
Deere ſyr, nought els wiſh I,
but to obay your will:
But ſure where ſo you go, your hart
with me ſhall tary ſtill,
Aſ ſigne and certaine pledge,
tyll here I ſhall you ſee:
Of all the powre that ouer you
your ſelfe did graunt to me.
And in his ſtead take myne,
the gage of my good will:
One promeſſe craue I at your hand,
that graunt me to fulfill.
Fayle not to let me haue
at fryer Lawrence hand,
The tydinges of your health, and how
your doutfull caſe ſhall ſtand.
And all the wery while
that you ſhall ſpend abrode:
Cauſe me from time to time to knowe
the place of your abode.
His eyes did guſhe out teares,
a ſigh brake from his breſt,
When he did graunt, and with an othe
did vowe to kepe the heſt.
Thus theſe two louers paſſe
away the wery night,
In payne and plaint, not (as they wont)
in pleaſure and delight.
But now (ſomewhat too ſoone)
in fartheſt Eaſt aroſe
Fayre Lucifer, the golden ſtarre,
that Lady Venus choſe.
Whoſe courſe appoynted is,
with ſpedy race to ronne,
A meſſenger of dawning daye,
and of the ryſing ſonne.
Then freſhe Aurora, with
her paie and ſiluer glade
Did clear the ſkyes, and from the earth,
had chaſed ougly ſhade.
When thou ne lookeſt wide,
ne cloſely doſt thou winke,
When Phoebus from our hemyſphere,
in weſterne waue doth ſinke.
What cooller then the heauens
do ſhew vnto thine eyes:
The ſame, (or like) ſaw Romeus
in fartheſt Eſterne ſkyes.
As yet, he ſaw no day:
ne could he call it night,
With equall force, decreaſing darke,
fought with increaſing light.
Then Romeus in armes
his lady gan to folde,
With frendly kiſſe and ruthfully
ſhe gan her knight beholde.
With ſolemne othe they both
theyr ſorowfull leaue do take,
They ſweare no ſtormy troubles ſhall
theyr ſteady frendſhip ſhake.
Then carefull Romeus,
agayne to cell retoornes,
And in her chamber ſecretly
our ioyles Iuliet moornes.
Now hugycloudes of care,
of ſorow and of dread,
The clearnes of their gladſome harts
hath wholy ouerſpread.
When golden creſted Phoebus
boſteth him in ſkye,
And vnder earth, to ſcape reuenge,
his dedly foe doth flye:
Then hath theſe louers day
an ende, their night begonne,
For eche of them to other is,
as to the world, the ſunne.
The dawning they ſhall ſee,
ne ſommer any more,
But blackfaced night with winter rough,
(ah)beaten ouer ſore.
The wery watch diſcharged,
did hye them home to ſlepe,
The warders, and the ſkowtes were chargde
theyr place and coorſe to keepe.
And Verone gates a wyde,
the porters had ſet open,
When Romeus had of his affayres
with frier Lawrence ſpoken:
Warely he walked forth,
vnknowne of frend or foe:
Clad like a merchant venterer,
from top euen to the toe.
He ſpurd apace and came
withouten ſtop or ſtay,
To Mantua gates, where lighted downe,
he ſent his man away,
With woords of comfort, to
his olde afflicted fyre:
And ſtraight in mynd to ſoiorne there,
a lodgeing doth he hyre.
And with the nobler ſort
he doth himſelfe acquaint,
And of his open wrong receaued,
the Duke doth heare his plaint.
He practiſeth by frendes,
for pardon of exyle,
The whilſt, he ſeeketh euery way,
his ſorowes to begyle.
But who forgets the cole
that burneth in his breſt?
Alas his cares, denye his hart,
the ſweete deſyred reſt.
No time findes he of myrth,
he findes no place of ioye,
But euery thing occaſion geues,
of ſorow and annoye.
For when in toorning ſkyes,
the heauens lampes are light,
And from the other hemyſphere,
fayre Phoebus chaceth night,
When euery man and beaſt,
hath reſt from painfull toyle,
Then in the breſt of Romeus,
his paſſions gyn to boyle.
Then doth he wet with teares,
the cowche wheron he lyes,
And then his ſighes the chamber fill,
and out aloude he cryes
Againſt the reſtles ſtarres,
in rolling ſkyes that raunge,
Againſt the fatall ſiſters three,
and Fortune full of chaunge.
Eche night a thouſand times
he calleth for the day,
He thinketh Titans reſtles ſtedes,
of reſtines do ſtay.
Or that at length they haue
ſome bayting place found out,
Or (gyded yll) haue loſt theyr way
and wandred farre about.
Whyle thus in ydel thoughts,
the wery time he ſpendeth,
The night hath end, but not with night
the plaint of night be endeth.
Is he accompanied,
is he in place alone?
In cumpany he wayles his harme,
a part be maketh mone.
For if his feeres reioyce,
what cauſe hath he to ioy,
That wanteth ſtill his cheefe delight,
while they theyr loues enioy?
But if with heauy cheere,
they ſhewe their inward greefe,
He wayleth moſt his wretchednes,
that is of wretches cheefe.
When he doth heare abrode,
the praiſe of ladies blowne,
Within his thought he ſcorneth them
and doth preferre his owne.
When pleaſant ſonges he heares
When others do reioyce
The melody of Muſike doth
ſtyrre vp his mourning voyce.
But if in ſecret place
he walke ſome where alone,
The place it ſelfe, and ſecretnes
redoubleth all his mone.
Then ſpeakes he to the beaſtes
to fethered fowles, and trees,
Unto the earth, the cloudes, and to
what ſo beſide he ſees.
To them he ſhewth his ſmart,
as though they reaſon had,
Eche thing may cauſe his heauines,
but nought may make him glad.
And (wery of the day)
agayne he calleth night,
The ſunne he curſeth, and the howre,
when fyrſt his eyes ſaw light.
And as the night, and day,
their courſe do enterchaunge:
So doth our Romeus nightly cares,
for cares of day exchaunge.
In abſence of her knight,
the lady no way could
Kepe trewe betwene her greefes and her,
though nere ſo fayne ſhe would.
And though with greater payne
ſhe cloked ſorowes ſmart:
Yet did her paled face diſcloſe
the paſſions of her hart.
Her ſighing euery howre,
her weping euery where,
Her recheles heede of meate, of ſlepe,
and wearing of her geare:
The carefull mother markes,
then of her health afrayde,
Becauſe the greefes increaſed ſtill,
thus to her child ſhe ſayde.
Deere daughter, if you ſhoulde
long languiſhe in this ſort,
I ſtand in doute that ouer ſoone
your ſorowes will make ſhort
Your louing fathers life,
and myne, that loue you more
Then our owne propre breth, and life.
Brydel hence forth therfore
Your greefe, and payne your ſelfe
on ioy your thought to ſet,
For time it is that now you ſhould
our Tybalts death forget.
Of whom, ſince God hath claymd
the lyfe, that was but lent,
He is in bliſſe, ne is there cauſe
why you ſhould thus lament?
You can not call him backe
with teares, and ſhrikinges ſhrill:
It is a falt thus ſtill to grudge
at Gods appoynted will.
The ſeely ſoule had now
no longer powre to fayne,
Ne longer could ſhe hyde her harme:
but aunſwerd thus agayne.
With heauy broken ſighes,
with viſage pale and ded
Madame, the laſt of Tybalts teares,
a great while ſince I ſhed.
Whoſe ſpring hath been ere this
ſo laded out by me,
That empty quite, and moyſtureles,
I geſſe it now to be.
So that my payned hart
by conduites of the eyne,
No more henceforth (as wont it was)
ſhall guſh forth dropping bryne.
The wofull mother knew
not, what her daughter ment,
And loth to vexe her childe by woordes,
her peace ſhe warely hent.
But when from howre to howre,
from morow to the morow,
Still more and more ſhe ſaw increaſt
her daughters wonted ſorow,
All meanes ſhe ſought of her,
and howſhold folke, to know
The certaine roote, whereon her greefe,
and booteles mone doth growe.
But lo, ſhe hath in vayne,
her time, and labor lore,
Wherfore without all meaſure, is
her hart tormented ſore.
And ſith her ſelfe could not
fynd out the cauſe of care:
She thought it good to tell the ſyre,
how yll his childe did fare.
And when ſhe ſaw her time,
thus to her feere ſhe ſayde:
Syr, if you marke our daughter well,
the countenance of the mayde,
And how ſhe fareth, ſince
that Tybalt vnto death,
(Before his time, forſt by his foe)
dyd yeld his liuing breath.
Her face ſhall ſeeme ſo chaunged,
her doynges eke ſo ſtraunge,
That you will greatly wonder at,
ſo great and ſodain chaunge.
Not onely ſhe forbeares,
her meate, her drinke, and ſleepe,
But now ſhe tendeth nothing els
but to lament and weepe.
No greater ioy hath ſhe,
nothing contentes her hart
So much, as in her chaumber, cloſe
to ſhut her ſelfe apart.
Where ſhe doth ſo torment
her poore afflicted mynde,
That much in daunger ſtandeſ her lyfe,
except ſomme helpe we fynde.
But (out alas) I ſee not
how it may be founde:
Unleſſe that fyrſt, we might fynd, whence
her ſorowes thus abounde.
For though with buſy care,
I haue employde my wit,
And vſed all the wayes I knew,
to learne the truth of it:
Neither extremitie,
ne gentle meanes could boote.
She hydeth cloſe within her breſt,
her ſecret ſorowes roote.
This was my fyrſt conceite,
that all her ruth aroſe
Out of her coofin Tybaltſ death,
late ſlayne of dedly foes.
But now my hart doth hold
a new repugnant thought,
Some greater thing, not Tybalts death
this chaunge in her hath wrought.
Her selfe aſſured me,
that many dayes a goe,
She ſhed the laſt of Tybalts teares,
which woord amaſd me ſo,
That I then could not geſſe
what thing els might her greeue,
But now at length I haue bethought
me. And I doe beleue
The onely crop and roote
of all my daughters payne,
Is grudgeing enuies faynt diſeaſe,
perhaps ſhe doth diſdayne
To ſee in wedlocke yoke
the moſt part of her feeres,
Whilſt onely ſhe vnmaried,
doth loſe ſo many yeres.
And more perchaunce ſhe thinkes
you mynd to kepe her ſo,
Wherfore diſpayring doth ſhe weare
her ſelfe away with woe.
Therfore (deere ſyr) in time,
take on your daughter ruth,
For why, a brickel thing is glaſſe,
and frayle is fraylleſſe youth.
Ioyne her at once to ſomme,
in linke of mariage,
That may be meete for our degree,
and much about her age.
So ſhall you baniſh care
out of your daughterſ breſt:
So we her parentes in our age,
ſhall liue in quiet reſt.
Wherto gan eaſely
her huſband to agree,
And to the mothers ſkilfull talke,
thus ſtraight way aunſwerd he.
Oft haue I thought (deere wife)
of all theſe thinges ere this,
But euermore my mynd me gaue,
it ſhould not be amiſſe,
By farther leyſure had,
a huſband to prouyde,
Scarce ſaw ſhe yet full .xvi. yeres:
too yong to be a bryde.
But ſince her ſtate doth ſtande
on termes ſo perilous,
And that a mayden daughter is
a treaſour daungerous:
With ſo great ſpeede I will
endeuour to procure
A huſband for our daughter yong,
her ſickenes faynt to cure.
That you ſhall reſt content,
(ſo warely will I chooſe)
And ſhe recouer ſoone enough
the time ſhe ſeemeſ to looſe.
The whilſt, ſeeke you to learne,
if ſhe in any part,
Already hath (vnware to vs)
fixed her frendly hart.
Leſt we haue more reſpect
to honor and to welth,
Then to our doughters quiet life,
and to her happy helth.
Whom I do hold as deere,
as thapple of myne eye,
And rather with in poore eſtate,
and daughterles to dye:
Then leaue my goodes and her
ythrald to ſuch a one,
Whoſe chorliſh dealing (I once dead)
ſhould be her cauſe of mone.
This pleaſant aunſwere heard,
the lady partes agayne.
And Capilet the maydens ſire,
within a day or twayne,
Conferreth with his frendes,
for mariage of his daughter,
And many gentlemen there were,
with buſy care that ſought her.
Both for the mayden was
well ſhaped, yong, and fayre,
As alſo well brought vp, and wiſe,
her fathers onely heyre.
Emong the reſt was one
inflamde with her deſire,
Who, County Paris cliped was,
an Earle he had to ſyre.
Of all the ſuters, him
the father liketh beſt,
And eaſely vnto the Earle
he maketh hiſ beheſt.
Both of his owne good will,
and of his frendly ayde,
To win his wife vnto his will,
and to perſwade the mayde.
The wife did ioy to heare
the ioyfull huſband ſay,
How happy hap, how meete a match,
he had found out that day.
Ne did ſhe ſeeke to hyde
her ioyes within her hart,
But ſtraight ſhe hyeth to Iuliet,
to her ſhe telles apart,
What happy talke (by meane
of her) was paſt no rather
Betwene the woing Paris, and
her carefull louing father.
The perſon of the man,
the fewters of his face,
His youthfull yeres, his fayrenes, and
his port and ſemely grace,
With curious wordes ſhe payntes
before her daughters eyes,
And then with ſtore of vertues prayſe,
ſhe heaues him to the ſkyes.
She vauntes his race, and gyftes,
that Fortune did him geue:
Wherby (ſhe ſaith) both ſhe and hers,
in great delight ſhall liue.
When Iuliet conceiued
her parentes whole entent,
Wherto, both loue, and reaſons right,
forbod her to aſſent:
Within her ſelfe ſhe thought,
rather then be forſworne,
With horſes wilde, her tender partes
a ſonder ſhould be torne.
Not now with baſhfull brow
(in wonted wiſe) ſhe ſpake,
But with vnwonted boldnes, ſtraight
into theſe woordes ſhe brake.
Madame, I maruell much,
that you ſo lauaſſe are,
Of me your childe, (your iewel once,
your onely ioy and care.)
As thus to yelde me vp,
at pleaſure of another,
Before you know if I doe like,
or els miſlike my louer.
Doo what you liſt, but yet
of this aſſure you ſtill,
If you do as you ſay you will,
I yelde not there vntill.
For had I choyſe of twayne,
farre rather would I chooſe,
My part of all your goodes, and eke
my breath and lyfe to loſe:
Then graunt that he poſſeſſe
of me the ſmalleſt part.
Firſt, weary of my painefull life,
my cares ſhall kill my hart.
Els will I perce my breſt,
with ſharpe and bloody knife,
And you my mother ſhall becomme
the murdreſſe of my life:
In geuing me to him,
whom I ne can ne may,
Ne ought to loue. Wherfore on knees,
deere mother I you pray
To let me liue henceforth,
as I haue liued tofore:
Ceaſſe all your troubles for my ſake,
and care for me no more.
But ſuffer Fortune feerce,
to worke on me her will,
In her it lyeth to doe me boote,
in her it lyeth to ſpill.
For whilſt you for the beſt,
deſyre to place me ſo,
You haſt a way my lingring death,
and double all my woe.
So deepe this aunſwere made
the ſorowes downe to ſinke,
Into the mothers breſt: that ſhe
ne knoweth what to thinke
Of theſe her daughters woords,
but all appalde ſhe ſtandes,
And vp vnto the heauens ſhe throwes
her wondring head and handes.
And nigh beſyde her ſelfe
her huſband hath ſhe ſought,
She telles him all, ſhe doth forget
ne yet ſhe hydeth ought.
The teſty old man wroth,
diſdainfull without meaſure,
Sendes forth his folke in haſte for her,
and byds them take no leyſure.
Ne on her teares or plaint,
at all to haue remorſe,
But (if they can not with her will,)
to bring the mayde perforce.
The meſſage heard, they part,
to fetch that they muſt fet:
And willingly with them walkes forth
obedient Iuliet.
Arriued in the place,
when ſhe her father ſaw,
Of whom (as much as duety would)
the daughter ſtoode in awe.
The ſeruantes ſent away,
(the mother thought it meete)
The wofull daughter all be wept,
fell groueling at his feete.
Which ſhe doth waſhe with teares
as ſhe thus groueling lyes:
So faſt and eke ſo plenteouſly
diſtill they from her eyes.
When ſhe to call for grace
her mouth doth think to open,
Muet ſhe is: for ſighes and ſobs
her fearefull talke haue broken.
The ſyre, whoſe ſwelling worth
her teares could not aſſwage,
With fiery eyen, and ſkarlet cheekes,
thus ſpake her in his rage.
Whilſt ruthfully ſtood by
the maydens mother mylde,
Liſten (quoth he) vnthankfull and
thou diſobedient childe.
Haſt thou ſo ſoone let ſlip
out of thy mynde the woord,
That thou ſo often times haſt heard
rehearſed at my boord?
How much the Romayne youth
of parentes ſtood in awe,
And eke what powre vpon theyr ſeede
the fathers had by lawe?
Whom they not onely might
pledge, alienate, and ſell,
(When ſo they ſtoode in neede) but more
if children did rebell,
The parentes had the power,
of lyfe and ſodayn death.
What if thoſe goodmen ſhould agayne
receaue the liuyng breth?
In how ſtraight bondes would they
thy ſtubberne body bynde:
What weapons would they ſeeke for thee?
what tormentes would they fynde?
To chaſten (if they ſaw)
the lewdnes of thy lyfe,
Thy great vnthankfulnes to me,
and ſhamefull ſturdy ſtrife?
Such care thy mother had,
ſo deere then wert to me,
That I with long and earneſt ſute,
prouided haue for thee.
One of the greateſt lordes,
that wonnes about this towne,
And for his many vertues ſake,
a man of great renowne.
Of whom, both thou and I,
vnworthy are too much,
So riche ere long he ſhalbe left,
his fathers welth is ſuch.
Such is the noblenes,
and honor of the race,
From whence his father came, and yet
thou playeſt in this caſe,
The dainty foole, and ſtubberne
gyrle, for want of ſkill,
Thou doſt refuſe thy offred weale,
and diſobay my will.
Euen by his ſtrength I ſweare,
that fyrſt did geue me lyfe
And gaue me in my youth the ſtrength
to get thee on my wyfe.
Onleſſe by wenſday next,
thou bende as I am bent,
And at our caſtle cald free towne,
thou freely doe aſſent
To Counte Paris ſute,
and promiſe to agree
To whatſoeuer then ſhall paſſe,
twixt him, my wife, and me.
Not onely will I geue
all that I haue away,
From thee, to thoſe that ſhall me loue,
me honor, and obay:
But alſo too ſo cloſe,
and to ſo hard a gayle,
I ſhall thee wed for all thy life,
that ſure thou ſhalt not fayle
A thouſand times a day
to wiſhe for ſodayn death:
And curſe the day, and howre when firſt
thy lunges did geue thee breath.
Aduiſe thee well, and ſay
that thou art warned now,
And thinke not that I ſpeake in ſport,
or mynd to breake my vowe.
For were it not that I
to Counte Paris gaue
My fayth, which I muſt kepe vnfalſt,
my honor ſo to ſaue:
Ere thou goe hence, my ſelfe
would ſee thee chaſtned ſo,
That thou ſhouldſt once for all be taught,
thy duetie how to knowe
And what reuenge of olde,
the angry ſyres did finde
Againſt theyr children that rebeld,
and ſhewd them ſelfe vnkinde.
Theſe ſayd, the olde man ſtraight
is gone in haſt a way.
Ne for his daughters anſwere would
the teſty father ſtay.
And after him, his wife
doth follow out of doore,
And there they leaue theyr chidden chylde
kneeling vpon the floore.
Then ſhe that oft had ſeene
the fury of her ſyre,
Dreading what might come of his rage,
nould farther ſtyrre his yre.
Vnto her chamber ſhe
withdrew her ſelfe aparte,
Where ſhe was wonted to vnlode,
the ſorowes of her hart.
There did ſhe not ſo much
buſy her eyes in ſleping,
As ouerpreſt with reſtles thoughts
in piteous booteles weping.
The faſt falling of teares
make not her teares decreaſe,
Ne by the powring forth of plaint,
the cauſe of plaint doth ceaſe.
So that to thend the mone
and ſorow may decaye,
The beſt is that ſhe ſeeke ſome meane
to take the cauſe away.
Her wery bed betime
the wofull wight forſakes,
And to ſainct Frauncis church to maſſe
her way deuoutly takes.
The fryer forth is calde,
ſhe prayes him heare her ſhrift:
Deuocion is in ſo yong yeres,
a rare and precious gyft.
When on her tender knees
the dainty lady kneeles,
In minde to powre forth all the greefe,
that inwardly ſhe feeles.
With ſighes and ſalted teares
her ſhryuing doth beginne,
Forſhe of heaped ſorowes hath
to ſpeake, and not of ſinne.
Her voyce with piteous plaint
was made already horce,
And haſty ſobs, when ſhe would ſpeake,
brake of her woordes parforce.
But as ſhe may peece meale,
ſhe powreth in his lappe,
The mariage newes, a miſchief newe,
prepared by miſhappe.
Her parentes promiſſe erſt
to Counte Paris paſt,
Her fathers threats ſhe telleth him,
and thus concludes at laſt.
Once was I wedded well,
ne will I wed agayne,
For ſince I know I may not be
the wedded wyfe of twayne,
For I am bound to haue
one God, one fayth, one make,
My purpoſe is as ſoone as I
ſhall hence my iorney take
With theſe two handes which ioynde
vnto the heauens I ſtretch,
The haſty death which I deſire
vnto my ſelfe to reache.
This day (O Romeus)
this day thy wofull wife
Will bring the end of all her cares
by ending carefull lyfe.
So my departed ſprite
ſhall witnes to the ſkye,
And eke my blood vnto the earth
beare record how that I
Haue kept my fayth vnbroke,
ſtedfaſt vnto my frende.
When this her heauy tale was tolde
her vowe eke at an ende,
Her gaſing here and there,
her feerce and ſtaring looke,
Did witnes that ſome lewd attempt,
her hart had vndertooke.
Whereat, the fryer astonde,
and gaſtfully afrayde,
Leſt ſhe by dede perfourme her woord,
thus much to her he ſayde.
Ah lady Iuliet,
what nede the wordes you ſpake?
I pray you graunt me one requeſt
for bleſſed Maries ſake.
Meaſure ſomewhat your greefe,
holde here a while your peace,
Whilſt I bethinke me of your caſe,
your plaint and ſorowes ceaſe.
Such comfort will I geue
you ere you part from hence,
And for thaſſaltes of Fortunes yre
prepare ſo ſure defence,
So holeſome ſalue will I
for your afflictionſ finde,
That you ſhall hence depart agayne
with well contented mynde.
His wordes haue chaſed ſtraight
out of her hart deſpayre,
Her blacke and ougly dredfull thoughts
by hope are waxen fayre.
So fryer Lawrence now
hath left her there alone,
And he out of the church in haſt
is to his chaumber gone.
Where ſundry thoughtes within
his carefull head ariſe,
The old mans foreſight diuers doutes
hath ſet before his eyes.
His conſcience one while
condems it for a ſinne,
To let her take Paris to ſpouſe,
ſince he himſelfe had byn
The chefeſt cauſe, that ſhe
vnknowne to father or mother,
Not fiue monthes paſt in that ſelfe place
was wedded to another.
An other while an hugy
heape of daungers dred,
His reſtles thought hath heaped vp,
within his troubled hed.
Euen of it ſelfe thattempt
he iudgeth perilous,
The execucion eke he demes
ſo much more daungerous,
That to a womans grace
he muſt himſelfe commit,
That yong is, ſimple, and vnware,
for waighty affaires vnfit.
For if the fayle in ought
the matter publiſhed,
Both ſhe and Romeus were vndonne,
himſelfe eke puniſhed,
When too and fro in mynde
he dyuers thoughts had caſt,
With tender pity and with ruth
his hart was wonne at laſt.
He thought he rather would
in haſard ſet his fame,
Then ſuffer ſuch adultery
reſoluing on the ſame,
Out of his cloſet ſtraight,
he tooke a litele glaſſe,
And then with double haſt retornde
where wofull Iuliet was.
Whom he hath found welnigh
in traunce, ſcarce drawing breath,
Attending ſtill to heare the newes
of lyfe or els of death.
Of whom he did enquire
of the appointed day.
On wenſday next (quod Iuliet)
ſo doth my father ſay:
I muſt geue my conſent
but (as I do remember)
The ſolemne day of mariage is,
the tenth day of September.
Deere daughter quoth the fryer
of good chere ſee thou be,
For loe, ſainct Frauncis of his grace
hath ſhewde a way to me,
By which I may both thee,
and Romeus together,
Out of the bondage which you feare
aſſuredly deliuer.
Euen from the holy font
thy huſband haue I knowne,
And ſince he grew in yeres, haue kept
his counſels as myne owne.
For from his youth he would
vnfold to me his hart,
And often haue I cured him,
of anguiſh, and of ſmart.
I know that by deſert
his frendſhip I haue wonne,
And I him holde as dere, as if
he were my propre ſonne.
Wherfore my frendly hart,
can not abyde that he
Should wrongfully in ought be harmde,
if that it lay in me,
To right or to reuenge
the wrong by my aduiſe,
Or timely to preuent the ſame
in any other wiſe.
And ſith thou art his wife,
thee am I bound to loue,
For Romeus frindſhips ſake, and ſeeke
thy anguiſhe to remoue,
And dreadfull torments which
thy hart beſegen rounde,
Wherfore my daughter geue good eare,
vnto my counſels ſounde.
Forget not what I ſay,
ne tell it any wight,
Not to the nurce thou truſteſt so,
as Romeus is thy knight.
For on this threed doth hang
thy death and eke thy lyfe,
My fame, or ſhame, his weale or woe,
that choſe thee to his wyfe.
Thou art not ignorant
(becauſe of ſuch renowne
As euery where is ſpred of me,
but chefely in this towne.)
That in my youthfull dayes
abrode I trauayled
Through euery land found out by men,
by men inhabited,
So twenty yeres from home,
in landes vnknowne, a geſt,
I neuer gaue my weary limmes
long time of quiet reſt.
But in the deſert woodes,
to beaſtes of cruell kinde,
Or on the ſeas to drenching waues,
at pleaſure of the winde,
I haue committed them
to ruth of rouers hand,
And to a thouſand daungers more
by water and by lande,
But not in vayne (my childe)
hath all my wandring byn,
Beſide the great contentednes
my ſprete abydeth in.
That by the pleaſant thought
of paſſed thinges doth grow
One priuate frute more haue I pluchd
which thou ſhalt ſhortly know:
What force the ſtones, the plants,
and metals haue to woorke,
And diuers other things that in
the bowels of earth do loorke,
With care I haue ſought out
with payne I did them proue,
With them eke can I helpe my ſelfe,
at times of my behoue,
(Although the ſcience be
againſt the lawes of men)
When ſodain daunger forceth me,
but yet moſt cheefly when
The worke to doe is leaſt
diſpleaſing vnto God,
Not helping to do any ſinne
that wrekefull Ioue forbode.
For ſince in lyfe no hope
of long abode I haue,
But now am comme vnto the brinke
of my appointed graue,
And that my death drawes nere,
whoſe ſtripe I may not ſhonne,
But ſhalbe calde to make account
of all that I haue donne,
Now ought I from hence forth
more depely print in mynde
The iudgement of the lord, then when
youthes folly made me blynde,
When loue and fond deſyre
were boyling in my breſt,
Whence hope and dred by ſtriuing thoughts
had baniſhed frendly reſt,
Knowe therefore (daughter) that
with other gyftes which I
Haue well attained to by grace
and fauour of the ſkye,
Long ſince I did finde out,
and yet the way I knowe
Of certain rootes and ſauory herbes
to make a kinde of dowe,
Which baked hard, and bet
into a powder fine,
And dronke with conduite water, or
with any kynd of wine,
It doth in halfe an howre
aſtonne the taker ſo,
And maſtreth all his ſences, that
he feeleth weale nor woe,
And ſo it burieth vp
the ſprite and liuing breath,
That euen the ſkilfull leche would ſay,
that he is ſlayne by death.
One vertue more it hath,
as meruelous as this,
The taker by receiuing it,
at all not greeued is.
But painleſſe as a man,
that thinketh nought at all,
Into a ſwete and quiet ſlepe
immediately doth fall,
From which (according to
the quantitie he taketh,
Longer or ſhorter is the time
before the ſleper waketh.
And thence (theffect once wrought)
agayne it doth reſtore
Him that receaued vnto the ſtate,
wherin he was before.
Wherfore, marke well the ende,
of this my tale begonne,
And therby learne what is by thee
hereafter to be donne.
Caſt of from thee at once,
the weede of womanniſh dread,
With manly courage arme thy ſelfe,
from heele vnto the head.
For onely on the feare
or boldnes of thy breſt,
The happy happe, or yll miſhappe
of thy affayre doth reſt.
Receiue this vyoll ſmall,
and keepe it as thine eye,
And on thy mariage day before
the ſunne doe cleare the ſkye,
Fill it with water full,
vp to the very brim.
Then drinke it of, and thou ſhalt feele,
throughout eche vayne and lim:
A pleaſant ſlumber ſlide,
and quite diſpred at length,
On all thy partes, from euery part
reue all thy kindly ſtrength.
Withouten mouing thus
thy idle parts ſhall reſt,
No pulſe ſhall goe, ne hart once beate
within thy hollow breſt.
But thou ſhalt lye as ſhe
that dyeth in a traunce,
Thy kinſmen, and thy truſty frendes
ſhall wayle the ſodain chaunce:
Thy corps then will they bring
to graue in this church yarde,
Where thy forefathers long agoe
a coſtly tombe preparde.
Both for himſelfe, and eke
for thoſe that ſhould come after,
Both deepe it is, and long and large,
where thou ſhalt reſt my daughter,
Till I to Mantua ſende
for Romeus thy knight.
Out of the tombe, both he and I
will take thee forth that night.
And when out of thy ſlepe
thou ſhalt awake agayne,
Then mayſt thou goe with him from hence,
and healed of thy payne,
In Mantua lead with him
vnknowne a pleaſant life,
And yet perhaps in time to comme,
when ceaſe ſhall all the ſtrife,
And that the peace is made
twixt Romeus and his foes,
My ſelfe may finde ſo fit a time
theſe ſecretes to dyſcloſe,
Both to my prayſe, and to
thy tender parentes ioy,
That daungerles without reproche
thou ſhalt thy loue enioy.
When of his ſkilfull tale,
the fryer had made an ende,
To which our Iuliet ſo well
her eare and wits dyd bend,
That ſhe hath heard it all,
and hath forgotten nought,
Her fainting hart was comforted,
with hope and pleaſant thought.
And then to him ſhe ſaid,
doubte not but that I will
With ſtoute and vnappauled hart,
your happy heſt fulfill.
Yea, if I wiſt it were
a venemous dedly drinke:
Rather would I that through my throte
the certaine bane ſhould ſinke,
Then I (not drinking it)
into his handes ſhould fall,
That hath no part of me as yet,
ne ought to haue at all.
Much more I ought with bold
and with a willing hert,
To greateſt daunger yelde my ſelfe
and to the dedly ſmart,
To comme to him, on whome
my life doth wholy ſtay,
That is my onely hartes delight,
and ſo he ſhalbe aye.
Then goe quoth he (my childe)
I pray that God on hye,
Direct thy foote, and by thy hand
vpon the way thee gye:
God graunt he ſo confirme
in thee thy preſent will,
That no inconſtant toy thee let,
thy promeſſe to fulfill.
A thouſand thankes and more,
our Iuliet gaue the fryer,
And homeward to her fathers houſe
ioyfull ſhe doth retyre.
And as with ſtately gate
ſhe paſſed through the ſtreete,
She ſaw her mother in the doore,
that with her there would meete.
In mynd to aſke if ſhe
her purpoſe yet did holde,
In mynd alſo a part twixt them,
her duety to haue tolde:
Wherfore with pleaſant face,
and with vnwonted chere,
As ſoone as ſhe was vnto her
approched ſumwhat nere,
Before the mother ſpake,
thus did ſhe fyrſt begin,
Madame, at ſainct Frauncis churche
haue I this morning byn,
Where I did make abode,
alonger while (percaſe)
Then dewty would, yet haue I not
been abſent from this place,
So long a while, whithout
a great and iuſt cauſe why,
This frute haue I receaued there,
my hart erſt lyke to dye,
Is now reuiued agayne,
and my afflicted breſt
Releaſed from affliction,
reſtored is to reſt.
For lo, my troubled goſt
(alas too ſore diſeaſde,)
By goſtly counſell and aduiſe,
hath fryer Lawrence eaſde,
To whome I did at large
diſcourſe my former lyfe,
And in confeſſion did I tell
of all our paſſed ſtrife.
Of Counte Paris ſute,
and how my lord my ſyre,
By my vngrate and ſtubborne ſtryfe,
I ſtyrred vnto yre.
But lo, the holy fryer
hath by his goſtly lore,
Made me another woman now,
then I had been before,
By ſtrength of argumentes
he charged ſo my mynde,
That (though I ſought) no ſure defence
my ſerching thought could finde.
So forced I was at length
to yelde vp witles will,
And promiſt to be orderd by
the friers prayſed ſkill,
Wherfore, albeit I
had raſhely long before,
The bed and rytes of mariage,
for many yeres forſwore,
Yet mother now behold,
your daughter at your will,
Ready (if you commaunde her ought)
your pleaſure to fulfill.
Wherfore in humble wiſe
dere madam I you pray
To goe vnto my lord and ſyre,
withouten long delay,
Of him fyrſt pardon craue
of faultes already paſt,
And ſhew him (if it pleaſeth you)
his child is now at laſt
Obedient to his luſt
and to his ſkilfull heſt.
And that I will (god lending life)
on wenſday next be preſt.
To wayte on him and you,
vnto thappoynted place,
Where I will in your hearing and
before my fathers face,
Vnto the Counte geue
my fayth and whole aſſent,
To take him for my lord and ſpouſe,
thus fully am I bent.
And that out of your mynde
I may remoue all doute,
Unto my cloſet fare I now,
to ſearche and to chooſe out
The braueſt garmentes and
the richeſt iewels there,
Which (better him to pleaſe) I mynd
on wenſday next to weare.
For if I did excell
the famous Gretian rape,
Yet might attyre helpe to amende
my bewty and my ſhape.
The ſimple mother was,
rapt in to great delight,
Not halfe a word could ſhe bring forth,
but in this ioyfull plight,
With nimble foote ſhe ran
and with vnwonted pace,
Unto her penſiue huſband, and
to him with pleaſant face
She tolde what ſhe had heard,
and prayſeth much the fryer.
And ioyfull teares ranne downe the cheekes
of this gray berded ſyer.
With handes and eyes heaued vp,
he thankes God in his hart,
And then he ſayth, this is not (wife)
the friers firſt deſart.
Oft hath he ſhewde to vs,
great frendſhip heretofore,
By helping vs at nedefull times,
with wiſdomes pretious lore:
In all our common weale,
ſcarce one is to be founde,
But is for ſomme good torne vnto
this holy father bounde.
Oh that the thyrd part of
my goods (I doe not fayne)
But twenty of his paſſed yeres
might purchaſe him agayne
So much in recompence
of frendſhip would I geue,
So much (in faith) his extreme age
my frendly hart doth greue.
Theſe ſaid, the glad old man,
from home, goeth ſtraight abrode,
And to the ſtately palace hyeth,
where Paris made abode.
Whom he deſyres to be
on wenſday next his geaſt,
At Freetowne, where he myndes to make
for him a coſtly feaſt.
But loe, the Earle saith
ſuch feaſting were but loſt,
And counſels him till mariage time
to ſpare ſo great a coſt.
For then he knoweth well
the charges wilbe great,
The whilſt his hart deſyreth ſtill
her ſight, and not his meate.
He craues of Capilet,
that he may ſtraight go ſee
Fayre Iuliet, wher to he doth
right willingly agree.
The mother warnde before,
her daughter doth prepare,
She warneth and ſhe chargeth her
that in no wyſe ſhe ſpare
Her curteous ſpeche, her pleaſant
lookes, and commely grace,
But liberally to geue them forth
when Paris commes in place.
Which ſhe as cunningly
could ſet forth to the ſhewe,
As cunning crafteſmen to the ſale
do ſet their wares on rew:
That ere the County did
out of her ſight depart,
So ſecretly vnwares to him,
ſhe ſtale away his hart,
That of his lyfe and death
the wyly wench hath powre,
And now his longing hart thinkes long
for theyr appoynted howre.
And with importune ſute,
the parentes doth he pray,
The wedlocke knot to knit ſoone vp,
and haſt the mariage day.
The woer hath paſt forth
the firſt day in this ſort,
And many other more then this,
in pleaſure and diſport,
At length the wiſhed time
of long hoped delight,
(As Paris thought) drew nere, but nere
approched heauy plight:
Againſt the bridall day
the parentes did prepare,
Such rich attyre, ſuch furniture,
ſuch ſtore of dainty fare,
That they which did behold
the ſame the night before,
Did thinke and ſay, a man could ſcarcely
wiſhe for any more.
Nothing did ſeeme to deere,
the deereſt thinges were bought,
And (as the written ſtory ſaith)
in dede there wanted nought.
That longd to his degree
and honor of his ſtocke,
But Iuliet the whilſt her thoughts
within her breſt did locke.
Euen from the truſty nurce,
whoſe ſecretries was tryde,
The ſecret counſell of her hart
the nurce childe ſeekes to hide.
For ſith to mocke her dame
ſhe dyd not ſticke to lye,
She thought no ſinne with ſhew of truth,
to bleare her nurces eye.
In chamber ſecretly
the tale ſhe gan renew,
That at the doore ſhe tolde her dame
as though it had been trew.
The flattring nurce did prayſe
the fryer for his ſkill,
And ſaid that ſhe had done right well
by wit to order will.
She ſetteth foorth at large
the fathers furious rage,
And eke ſhe prayſeth much to her,
the ſecond mariage.
And County Paris now
ſhe praiſeth ten times more,
By wrong, then ſhe her ſelfe by right,
had Romeus prayſde before.
Paris ſhall dwell there ſtill,
Romeus ſhall not retourne,
What ſhall it boote her life,
to languiſh ſtill and mourne.
The pleaſures paſt before,
ſhe muſt account as gayne,
But if he doe retorne, what then?
for one ſhe ſhall haue twayne.
The one ſhall vſe her as
his lawfull wedded wyſe,
In wanton loue, with equall ioy
the other leade his lyfe:
And beſt ſhall ſhe be ſped
of any towniſh dame,
Of huſband and of paramour,
to fynde her chaunge of game.
Theſe wordes and like, the nurce
did ſpeake, in hope to pleaſe,
But greatly did theſe wicked wordes
the ladies mynde diſeaſe:
But ay ſhe hid her wrath,
and ſeemed well content,
When dayly dyd the naughty nurce
new argumentes inuent:
But when the bryde perceued
her howre approched nere,
She ſought (the beſt ſhe could) to fayne,
and tempted ſo her cheere,
That by her outward looke,
no liuing wight could geſſe
Her inward woe, and yet a new
renewde is her diſtreſſe.
Vnto her chaumber doth
the penſiue wight repayre.
And in her hand a percher light
the nurce beares vp the ſtayre,
In Iuliets chamber was
her wonted vſe to lye,
Wherfore her miſtres dreading that
ſhe ſhould her work deſcrye
As ſone as ſhe began
her pallet to vnfold,
Thinking to lye that night, where ſhe
was wont to lye of olde:
Doth gently pray her ſeeke,
her lodgeing ſome where els.
And leſt the crafty ſhould ſuſpect,
a ready reaſon telles.
Derefrend (quoth ſhe) you knowe,
to morow is the day,
Of new contract, wherfore this night,
my purpoſe is to pray,
Vnto the heauenly myndes,
that dwell aboue the ſkyes,
And order all the courſe of thinges,
as they can beſt deuyſe,
That they ſo ſmyle vpon
the doynges of Tomorow,
That all the remnant of my lyfe,
may be exempt from ſorow:
Wherfore I pray you leaue
me here alone this night,
But ſee that you to morow comme
before the dawning light,
For you muſt coorle my heare,
and ſet on my attyre,
And eaſely the louing nurſe,
dyd yelde to her deſire.
For ſhe within he hed
dyd caſt before no doute,
She little knew the cloſe attempt,
her nurce childe went about.
The nurce departed once,
the chamber doore ſhut cloſe,
Aſſured that no liuing wight,
her doing myght diſcloſe,
She powred forth into
the vyole of the fryer,
Water out of a ſiluer ewer,
that on the boord ſtoode by her,
The ſlepy mixture made,
fayre Iuliet doth it hyde,
Under her bolſter ſoft, and ſo
vnto her bed ſhe hyed:
Where diuers nouel thoughts
ariſe within her hed,
And ſhe is ſo inuironed
about with deadly dred,
That what before ſhe had
reſolued vndoutedly,
That ſame ſhe calleth into doute,
and lying doutfully,
Whilſt honeſt loue did ſtriue
with dred of dedly payne,
With handes ywrong, and weping eyes,
thus gan ſhe to complaine.
What, is there any one
beneth the heauens hye,
So much vnfortunate as I,
ſo much paſt hope as I?
What, am not I my ſelfe
of all that yet were borne,
The depeſt drenched in diſpayre,
and moſt in Fortunes ſkorne?
For loe the world for me,
hath nothing els to finde,
Beſide miſhap and wretchednes,
and anguiſh of the mynde,
Since that the cruel cauſe
of my vnhappines,
Hath put me to this ſodaine plonge,
and brought to ſuch diſtres,
As (to the end I may
my name and conſcience ſaue,)
I muſt deuowre the mixed drinke,
that by me here I haue.
Whoſe woorking and whoſe force
as yet I doe not know,
And of this piteous plaint began
another doute to growe.
What doe I knowe (quoth ſhe)
if that this powder ſhall
Sooner or later then it ſhould
or els not woorke at all?
And then my craft deſcride,
as open as the day,
The peoples tale and laughing ſtocke,
ſhall I remayne for aye.
And what know I (quoth ſhe)
if ſerpentes odious,
And other beaſtes and wormes that are
of nature venemous,
That wonted are to lurke,
in darke caues vnder grounde,
And commonly as I haue heard
in dead mens tombes are found,
Shall harme me yea or nay,
were I ſhall lye as ded,
Or how ſhall I that alway haue
in ſo freſhe ayre been bred
Endure the lothſome ſtinke
of ſuch an heaped ſtore
Of carkaſes, not yet conſumde
and bones that long before
Intombed were, where I
my ſleping place ſhall haue,
Where all my aunceſters doe reſt,
my kindreds common graue.
Shall not the fryer and
my Romeus when they come,
Fynd me (if I awake before)
yſtified in the tombe?
And whtlſt ſhe in theſe thoughtes
doth dwell ſomwhat to long,
The force of her ymagining,
anon dyd ware ſo ſtrong,
That ſhe ſurmyſde ſhe ſaw
out of the hollow vaulte,
(A griefly thing to looke vpon,)
the carkas of Tybalt,
Right in the ſelfe ſame ſort,
that ſhe few dayes before
Had ſeene him in his blood embrewde,
to death eke wounded ſore.
And then, when ſhe agayne
within her ſelfe had wayde,
That quicke ſhe ſhould be buried there,
and by his ſide be layde
All comfortles, for ſhe
ſhall liuing feere haue none
But many a rotten carkas, and
full many a naked bone:
Her dainty tender partes
gan ſheuer all for dred,
Her golden heares did ſtand vpright,
vpon her chilliſh hed.
Then preſſed with the feare
that ſhe there liued in,
A ſweat as colde as mountaine yſe,
pearſt through her tender ſkin,
That with the moyſture hath
wet euery part of hers,
And more beſides, ſhe vainely thinkes,
whilſt vainely thus ſhe feares,
A thouſand bodies dead
haue compaſt her about,
And leſt they will diſmember her,
ſhe greatly ſtandes in dout,
But when ſhe felt her ſtrength
began to weare away,
By little and little, and in her hart
her feare increaſed ay:
Dreading that weakenes might
or fooliſh cowardiſe
Hinder the execution of
the purpoſde enterpriſe,
As ſhe had frantike been,
in haſt the glaſſe ſhe cought,
And vp ſhe dranke the mixture quite.
withouten farther thought.
Then on her breſt ſhe croſt
her armes long and ſmall,
And ſo her ſenſes fayling her,
into a traunce did fall.
And when that Phoebus bright
heaued vp his ſeemely hed,
And from the Eaſt in open ſkies
his gliſtring rayes diſpred
The nurce vnſhut the doore,
for ſhe the key did keepe,
And douting ſhe had ſlept to long,
ſhe thought to breake her ſlepe:
Fyrſt, ſoftly dyd ſhe call,
then lowder thus did crye,
Lady, you ſlepe to long, (the Earle)
will rayſe you by and by.
But wele away, in vayne
vnto the deafe ſhe calles,
She thinkes to ſpeake to Iuliet,
but ſpeaketh to the walles.
If all the dredfull noyſe,
that might on earth be found,
Or on the roaring ſeas, or if
the dredfull thunders ſound,
Had blowne into her eares,
I thinke they could not make,
The ſleping wight before the time
by any meanes awake:
So were the ſprites of lyfe
ſhut vp, and ſenſes thrald,
Wherwith the ſeely carefull nurce,
was wondrouſly apalde.
She thought to daw her now
as ſhe had donne of olde,
But loe, ſhe found her parts were ſtiffe.
and more then marble colde,
Neither at mouth nor noſe,
found ſhe recourſe of breth,
Two certaine argumentes were theſe,
of her vntimely death.
Wherfore as one diſtraught,
ſhe to her mother ranne,
With ſcratched face, and heare betorne,
but no woord ſpeake ſhe can.
At laſt (with much a doe)
Dead (quoth ſhe) is my childe,
Now out alas (the mother cryde)
and as a Tyger wilde,
Whoſe whelpes whilſt ſhe is gonne
out of her denne to pray,
The hunter gredy of his game,
doth kill or cary away:
So, rageing forth ſhe ranne,
vnto her Iuliets bed,
And there ſhe found her derling, and
her onely comfort ded.
Then ſhriked ſhe out as lowde,
as ſerue her would her breth,
And then (that pity was to heare)
thus cryde ſhe out on death.
Ah cruell death (quoth ſhe)
that thus againſt all right
Haſt ended my felicitie,
and robde my hartes delight,
Do now thy worſt to me,
once wreake thy wrath for all.
Euen in deſpite I crye to thee
thy vengeance let thou fall.
Wherto ſtay I (alas,)
ſince Iuliet is gone?
Wherto liue I ſince ſhe is dead,
except to wayle and mone?
Alacke dere chyld, my teares
for thee ſha l neuer ceaſe,
Euen as my dayes of life increaſe,
ſo ſhall my plaint increaſe.
Such ſtore of ſorow ſhall
afflict my tender hart,
That dedly panges when they aſſayle
ſhall not augment my ſmart.
Then gan ſhe ſo to ſobbe,
it ſeemde her hart would braſt,
And while ſhe crieth thus, behold
the father at the laſt,
The County Paris, and
of gentilmen a route,
And ladies of Verona towne,
and country round about,
Both kindreds and alies,
thether a pace haue preaſt,
For by theyr preſence there they ſought
to honor ſo the feaſt,
But when the heauy newes
the hydden geaſtes did heare,
So much they mournd, that who had ſeene
theyr countnance and theyr cheere,
Might eaſely haue iudgde,
by that that they had ſeene,
That day the day of wrath, and eke
of pity haue beene.
But more then all the reſt
the fathers hart was ſo
Smit with the heauy newes, and ſo
ſhut vp with ſodain woe,
That he ne had the powre
his daughter to bewepe,
Ne yet to ſpeake, but long is forſd,
his teares and plaint to kepe.
In all the haſt he hath
for ſkilfull leaches ſent,
And hearyng of her paſſed life,
they iudge with one aſſent,
The cauſe of this her death
was inward care and thought,
And then with double force againe
the doubled ſorowes wrought.
If euer there hath been
a lamentable day,
A day ruthfull, vnfortunate,
and fatall, then I ſay,
The ſame was it in which,
through Veron towne was ſpred,
The wofull newes how Iuliet
was ſterued in her bed.
For ſo ſhe was bemonde,
both of the yong and olde,
That it might ſeeme to him that would
the commen plaint behold,
That all the commen welth
did ſtand in ieopardy,
So vniuerfall was the plaint,
ſo piteous was the crye.
For lo, beſide her ſhape,
and natiue bewties hewe,
With which, like as ſhe grew in age,
her vertues prayſes grewe.
She was alſo ſo wiſe,
ſo lowly, and ſo mydle:
That euen from the hory head,
vnto the witles childe,
She wan the hartes of all,
ſo that there was not one,
Ne great ne ſmall, but dyd that day
her wretched ſtate bemone.
Whilſt Iuliet ſlept, and whilſt
the other wepen thus:
Our fryer Lawrence hath by this,
ſent one to Romeus.
A frier of his houſe,
there neuer was a better,
He truſted him euen as himſelfe,
to whom he gaue a letter:
In which, he written had,
of euery thing at length,
That paſt twixt Iuliet and him,
and of the powders ſtrength.
The next night after that,
he willeth him to comme
To helpe to take his Iuliet
out of the hollow toombe.
For by that time, the drinke
he ſaith will ceaſe to woorke,
And for one night his wife and he
within his cell ſhall loorke.
Then ſhall he cary her
to Mantua away,
(Till ſickell Fortune fauour him)
diſguiſde in mans aray.
Thys letter cloſde he ſendes
to Romeus by his brother:
He chargeth him that in no caſe
he geue it any other.
Apace our frier Iohn
to Mantua him hyes,
And for becauſe in Italy
it is a wonted gyſe,
That friers in the towne
ſhould ſeeldome walke alone,
But of theyr couent ay ſhould be
accompanide with one:
Of his profeſſion ſtraight
a houſe he fyndeth out.
In mynde to take ſome frier with him,
to walke the towne about.
But entred once, he might
not iſſue out agayne,
For that a brother of the houſe,
a day before or twayne.
Dyed of the plague (a ſickenes which
they greatly feare and hate)
So were the brethren charged to kepe
within theyr couent gate,
Bard of theyr felowſhip,
that in the towne do wonne,
The towne folke eke commaunded are,
the fryers houſe to ſhonne:
Tyll they that had the care of health,
theyr fredome ſhould renew,
Wherof, as you ſhall ſhortly heare,
a miſcheefe great there grewe.
The fryer by this reſtraint,
beſet with dred and ſorow,
Not knowing what the letters held,
differd vntill the morowe:
And then he thought in tyme
to ſend to Romeus,
But whilſt at Mantua where he was,
theſe dooinges framed thus,
The towne of Iuliets byrth
was wholy buſied,
About her obſequies, to ſee
theyr darlyng buried.
Now is the parentes myrth
quite chaunged into mone,
And now to ſorow is retornde
the ioy of euery one.
And now the wedding weedes
for mourning weedes they chaunge,
And Hymene into a Dyrge,
alas it ſeemeth ſtraunge.
In ſteade of mariage gloues,
now funerall gloues they haue,
And whom they ſhould ſee maried,
they follow to the graue.
The feaſt that ſhould haue been
of pleaſure and of ioy,
Hath euery diſh, and cup, fild full
of ſorow and annoye.
Now throughout Italy
this commen vſe they haue,
That all the beſt of euery ſtocke
are earthed in one graue.
For euery houſhold, if
it be of any fame,
Doth bylde a tombe, or digge a vault
that beares the houſholdes name.
Wherein (if any of
that kindred hap to dye)
They are beſtowde, els in the ſame
no other corps may lye.
The Capilets, her corps
in ſuch a one dyd lay,
Where Tybalt ſlayne of Romeus,
was layde the other, day:
An other vſe there is,
that whoſoeuer dyes,
Borne to their church with open face,
vpon the beere he lyes
In wonted weede attyrde,
not wrapt in winding ſheete,
So, as by chaunce he walked abrode,
our Romeus man dyd meete
His maiſters wyſe, the ſight
with ſorow ſtraight dyd wounde
His honeſt hart, with teares he ſawe
her lodged vnder ground.
And for he had been ſent
to Verone for a ſpye,
The doynges of the Capilets
by wiſdome to deſcrye,
And for he knew her death
dyd tooch his maiſter moſt,
(Alas) too ſoone, with heauy newes
he hyed away in poſt:
And in his houſe he found
his maiſter Romeus,
Where he beſprent with many teares,
began to ſpeake him thus.
Syr, vnto you of late
iſ chaunced ſo great a harme,
That ſure except with conſtancy
you ſeeke your ſelfe to arme,
I feare that ſtrayght you will
brethe out your latter breath,
And I moſt wretched wight ſhalbe
thoccaſion of your death.
Know ſyr that yeſterday
my lady and your wyfe,
I wot not by what ſodain grefe,
hath made exchaunge of life:
And for becauſe on earth,
ſhe found nought but vnreſt,
In heauen hath ſhe ſought to fynde
a place of quiet reſt.
And with theſe weping eyes
my ſelfe haue ſeene her layde
Within the tombe of Capilets,
and here withall he ſtayde,
This ſodayne meſſage ſounde
ſent forth with ſighes and teares,
Our Romeus receaued too ſoone
with open liſtening eares,
And therby hath ſonke in
ſuch ſorow in his hart,
That loe, his ſprite annoyed ſore
with torment and with ſmart,
Was like to breake out of
his priſon houſe perforce,
And that he might flye after hers,
would leaue the maſſy corce.
But earneſt loue that will
not fayle him till his ende,
This fond and ſodain fantaſy
into his head dyd ſende:
That if nere vnto her
he offred vp his breath,
That then an hundred thouſand parts
more glorious were his death,
Eke ſhould his painfull hart
a great deale more be eaſed,
And more alſo (he vainely thought)
his lady better pleaſed.
Wherfore, when he his face
hath waſht with water cleene,
Leſt that the ſtaynes of dryed teares,
might on his cheekes be ſeene,
And ſo his ſorow ſhould
of euery one be ſpyde,
Which he with all his care dyd ſeeke
from euery one to hyde:
Straight wery of the houſe,
he walketh forth abrode,
His ſeruant at the maiſters heſt
in chamber ſtyll abode:
And then fro ſtreate to ſtreate,
he wandreth vp and downe,
To ſee if he in any place
may fynde in all the towne,
A ſalue meete for his ſore,
an oyle fitte for his wounde,
And ſeeking long (alac too ſoone)
the thing he ſought, he founde.
An Apothecary ſate
vnbuſied at his doore,
Whom by his heauy countenaunce
he geſſed to be poore,
And in his ſhop he ſaw
his boxes were but fewe,
And in his window (of his wares)
there was ſo ſmall a ſhew,
Wherfore our Romeus
aſſuredly hath thought,
What by no frendſhip could be got,
with money ſhould be bought.
For nedy lacke is lyke
the poore man to compell,
To ſell that which the cities lawe
forbiddeth him to ſell.
Then by the hand he drew
the nedy man apart,
And with the ſight of glittring gold
inflamed hath his hart,
Take fiftie crownes of gold
(quoth he) I geue them thee,
So that before I part from hence
thou ſtraight deliuer me,
Somme poyſon ſtrong, that may
in leſſe then halfe an howre,
Kill him whoſe wretched hap ſhalbe
the potion to deuowre.
The wretch by couetiſe
is wonne, and doth aſſent,
To ſell the thing, whoſe ſale ere long
too late he doth repent.
In haſt he poyſon ſought,
and cloſely he it bounde,
And then began with whiſpering voyce
thus in his eare to rounde,
Fayre ſyr (quoth he) be ſure,
this is the ſpeeding gere,
And more there is then you ſhall nede,
for halfe of that is there,
Will ſerue, I vndertake,
in leſſe then half an howre,
To kill the ſtrongeſt man aliue,
ſuch is the poyſons power,
Then Romeus ſomwhat eaſd
of one part of his care,
Within his boſome putteth vp
his dere vnthrifty ware.
Retorning home agayne,
he ſent his man away,
To Verone towne, and chargeth him,
that he without delay,
Prouyde both inſtruments,
to open wyde the toombe,
And lightes to ſhew him Iuliet,
and ſtay (till he ſhall comme.)
Nere to the place whereas
his louing wyfe doth reſt,
And chargeth him not to bewray
the dolours of his breſt.
Peter, theſe heard, his leaue
both of his maiſter take,
Betyme he commes to towne, ſuch haſt
the paynfull man did make.
And then with buſy care
he ſeeketh to fulfill,
But doth dyſcloſe vnto no wight
his wofull maiſters will.
Would God he had herein
broken his maiſters heſt,
Would God that to the fryer he had
dyſcloſed all hys breſt.
But Romeus, the whyle,
with many a dedly thought,
Prouoked much, hath cauſed ynke
and paper to be brought,
And in few lynes he dyd
of all his loue dyſcoorſe,
How by the fryers helpe, and by
the knowledge of the noorſe,
The wedlocke knot was knyt,
and by what meane that night
And many moe he dyd enioy,
his happy hartes delight.
Where he the poyſon bought,
and how his lyfe ſhould ende,
And ſo his wailefull tragedy
the wretched man hath pend.
The letters cloſe and ſeald,
directed to his ſyre:
He locketh in his purſe, and then,
a poſt hors doth he hyre.
When he approched nere,
he warely lighted downe,
And euen with the ſhade of night,
he entred Verone towne,
Where he hath found his man
wayting when he ſhould comme,
With lanterne and with inſtruments,
to open Iuliets toomme.
Helpe Peter, helpe quod he,
helpe to remoue the ſtone,
And ſtraight when I am gone fro thee
my Iuliet to bemone:
See that thou get thee hence,
and on the payne of death,
I charge thee that thou comme not nere,
whyle I abyde beneath,
Ne ſeeke thou not to let
thy maſters enterpriſe,
Which he hath fully purpoſed
to doe in any wiſe.
Take there a letter, which
as ſoone as he ſhall ryſe,
Preſent it in the morning to
my louing fathers eyes.
Which vnto him perhaps
farre pleaſanter ſhall ſeeme,
Then eyther I do mynd to ſay,
or thy groſe head can deeme.
Now Peter that knew not,
the purpoſe of his hart,
Obediently a little way
withdrew himſelfe apart,
And then our Romeus,
(the vault ſtone ſet vpright)
Deſcended downe, and in his hand,
he bare the candle light.
And then with piteous eye,
the body of his wyfe,
He gan beholde, who ſurely was
the organ of his lyfe.
For whom vnhappy now
he is, but erſt was blyſſ:
He watred her with teares, and then
an hundred times her kyſt.
And in his folded armes,
full ſtraightly he her plight,
But no way could his greedy eyes
be filled with her ſight,
His fearfull handes he layd
vpon her ſtomacke colde,
And then on diuers parts beſyde,
the wofull wight did hold.
But when he could not fynd
the ſignes of lyfe he ſought,
Out of his curſed box he drewe
the poyſon that he bought.
Wherof, he gredely
deuowrde the greater part,
And then he cryde with dedly ſigh,
fetcht from his mourning hart:
Oh Iuliet, of whom
the world vnwoorthy was,
From which, for worldes vnworthines
thy worthy goſt dyd paſſe:
What death more pleaſant could
my hart wiſh to abyde,
Then that which here it ſuffreth now,
ſo nere thy frendly ſyde.
Or els ſo glorious tombe,
how could my youth haue craued.
As in one ſelfe ſame vaulte with thee
haply to be ingraued?
What Epitaph more worth,
or halfe ſo excellent,
To conſecrate my memorye,
could any man inuente
As this, our mutuell, and
our piteous ſacrifice
Of lyfe, ſet light for loue, but while
he talketh in this wiſe,
And thought as yet a while
his dolors to enforce,
His tender hart began to faynt,
preſt with the venoms force:
Which little and little gan
to ouercomme hys hart,
And whilſt his buſy eyne he threwe
about to euery part:
He ſaw hard by the corce
of ſleping Iuliet,
Bold Tybalt carkas dead, which was
not all conſumed yet,
To whom (as hauing life)
in this ſort ſpeaketh he,
Ah coſin dere Tybalt, whereſo
thy reſtles ſprite now be,
With ſtretched handes to thee
for mercy now I crye,
For that before thy kindly howre
I forced thee to dye.
But if with quenched lyfe,
not quenched be thine yre.
But with reuengeing luſt as yet
thy hart be ſet on fyre:
What more amendes, or cruell
wreke deſyreſt thou?
To ſee on me, then this which here
is ſhewd forth to thee now?
Who reft by force of armes
from thee thy liuing breath,
The ſame with his owne hand (thou ſeeſt)
doth poyſon himſelfe to death.
And for he cauſed thee
in tombe too ſoone to lye,
Too ſoone alſo, yonger then thou
himſelfe he layeth by.
Theſe ſaid, when he gan feele,
the poyſons force preuayle,
And little and little maſtred lyfe,
for aye beganne to fayle,
Kneeling vpon his knees,
he ſaid with voyce full lowe,
Lord Chriſt that ſo to raunſome me
deſcendedſt long agoe,
Out of thy fathers boſome,
and in the virgins wombe,
Didſt put on fleſhe, Oh let my plaint
out of this hollow toombe,
Perce through the ayre, and graunt
my ſute may fauour finde.
Take pity on my ſinnefull and
my poore afflicted mynde.
For well enough I know,
this body is but clay,
Nought but a maſſe of ſinne, to frayle,
and ſubiect to decay.
Then preſſed with extreme greefe,
he threw with ſo great force,
His ouerpreſſed parts vpon
his ladies wayled corps:
That now his wekened hart,
weakened with tormentes paſt,
Unable to abyde this pang,
the ſharpeſt and the laſt:
Remayned quite depriued,
of ſenſe and kindly ſtrength,
And ſo the long impriſond ſoule,
hath freedome wonne at length.
Ah cruell death, too ſoone,
too ſoone was this deuorce,
Twixt youthfull Romeus heauenly ſprite,
and his fayre earthy corſe.
The fryer that knew what time
the powder had been taken,
Knew eke the very inſtant, when
the ſleper ſhould awaken.
But wondring that he could
no kind of aunſwer heare,
Of letters, which to Romeus
his fellow fryer did beare:
Out of ſainct Frauncis church
hymſelfe alone dyd fare,
And for the opening of the tombe,
meete inſtrumentes he bare:
Approching nigh the place,
and ſeeing there the lyght,
Great horror felt he in his hart,
by ſtraunge and ſodaine ſight,
Tyll Peter (Romeus man)
his coward hart made bolde,
When of his maſters being there,
the certain newes he tolde:
There hath he been (quoth he)
this halfe howre at the leaſt,
And in this time I dare well ſay
his plaint hath ſtill increaſt.
Then both they entred in,
where they (alas) dyd fynde,
The bretheles corps of Romeus,
forſaken of the mynde.
Where they haue made ſuch mone,
as they may beſt conceue,
That haue with perfect frendſhip loued,
whoſe frend, feerce death dyd reue.
But whilſt with piteous playnt,
they Romeus fate be wepe,
An howre too late fayre Iuliet
awaked out of ſlepe.
And much amaſde to ſee
in tombe ſo great a light,
She wiſt not if ſhe ſaw a dreame,
or ſprite that walkd by night.
But cumming to her ſelfe,
ſhe knew them, and ſaid thus,
What fryer Lawrence, is it you?
where is my Romeus?
And then the auncient frier,
that greatly ſtoode in feare,
Leſt if they lingred ouer long,
they ſhould be taken theare,
In few plaine woordes, the whole
that was betyde he tolde,
And with his fingar ſhewd his corps
out ſtretched, ſtiffe, and colde,
And then perſwaded her
with pacience to abyde
This ſodain great miſchaunce, and ſayth
that he will ſoone prouyde
In ſomme religious houſe
for her a quiet place,
Where ſhe may ſpend the reſt of lyfe,
and where in time percaſe
She may with wiſdomes meane,
meaſure her mourning breſt,
And vnto her tormented ſoule
call backe exiled reſt.
But loe, as ſoone as ſhe
had caſt her ruthfull eye
On Romeus face, that pale and wan,
faſt by her ſide dyd lye,
Straight way ſhe dyd vnſtop
the conduites of her teares,
And out they guſhe, with cruell hand
ſhe tare her golden heares.
But when ſhe neither could
her ſwelling ſorowſwage,
Ne yet her tender hart abyde
her ſickenes furious rage:
Falne on his corps, ſhe lay
long panting on his face,
And then with all her force and ſtrength,
the ded corps dyd embrace,
As though with ſighes, with ſobs,
with force and buſy payne,
She would him rayſe, and him reſtore
from death to lyfe agayne:
A thouſand times ſhe kiſt
his mouth as cold as ſtone,
And it vnkiſt agayne as oft,
then gan ſhe thus to mone.
Ah pleaſant prop of all
my thoughtes, ah onely ground
Of all the ſweete delightes, that yet
in all my lyfe I found.
Did ſuch aſſured truſt
within thy hart repoſe:
That in this place, and at this time,
this churchyarde thou haſt choſe?
Betwixt the armes of me,
thy perfect louing make?
And thus by meanes of me to ende
thy lyfe, and for my ſake?
Euen in the flowring of
thy youth, when vnto thee,
Thy lyfe moſt deare (as to the moſt)
and pleaſant ought to be:
How could this tender corps
withſtand the cruell fight
Of furious death, that wonts to fray
the ſtouteſt with his ſight:
How could thy dainty youth
agree with willing hart,
In this ſo fowle infected place
(to dwell) where now thou art.
Where ſpitefull Fortune hath
appoynted thee to be,
The dainty foode of greedy woormes,
vnworthy ſure of thee.
Alas, alas, alas,
what neded now a new,
My wonted ſorowes doubled twiſe
agayne thus to renewe?
Which both the tyme, and eke
my pacient long abode,
Should now at length haue quenched quite,
and vnder foote haue trode.
Ah wretch, and caytiue that
I am, euen when I thought
To find my painefull paſſions ſalue:
I myſt the thing I ſought,
And to my mortall harme,
the fatall knyfe I grounde,
That gaue to me ſo deepe, ſo wyde,
ſo cruell dedly wounde.
Ah thou moſt fortunate,
and moſt vnhappy tombe,
For thou ſhalt beare from age to age,
witnes in time to comme,
Of the moſt perfect leage,
betwixt a payre of louers,
That were the moſt vnfortunate,
and fortunate of others:
Receaue the latter ſigh,
receaue the latter pang,
Of the moſt cruell of cruell ſlaues,
that wrath and death ay wrang.
And when our Iuliet would
continue ſtill her mone,
The fryer and the ſeruant fled
and left her there alone.
For they a ſodayne noyſe,
faſt by the place did heare,
And leſt they might be taken there,
greatly they ſtoode in feare.
When Iuliet ſaw her ſelfe
left in the vaulte alone,
That freely ſhe might worke her will,
for let or ſtay was none:
Then once for all, ſhe tooke
the cauſe of all her harmes,
The body dead of Romeus,
and claſpd it in her armes,
Then ſhe with earneſt kiſſe,
ſufficiently did proue,
That more then by the feare of death,
ſhe was attaint by loue.
And then paſt deadly feare,
for lyfe ne had ſhe care,
With haſty hand ſhe did draw out,
the dagger that he ware.
O welcome death (quoth ſhe)
end of vnhappines,
That alſo art beginning of
aſſured happines:
Feare not to darte me nowe,
thy ſtripe no longer ſtay,
Prolong no longer now my lyfe,
I hate this long delaye.
For ſtraight my parting ſprite,
out of this carkas fled,
At eaſe ſhall finde my Romeus ſprite,
emong ſo many ded.
And thou my louing lord,
Romeus my truſty feer,
If knowledge yet doe reſt in thee,
if thou theſe woordes doſt heer:
Receue thou her whom thou
didſt loue ſo lawfully,
That cauſd (alas) thy violent death
although vnwillingly.
And therfore willingly
offers to thee her goſt,
To thend that no wight els but thou,
might haue iuſt cauſe to boſte
Thinioying of my loue,
which ay I haue reſerued,
Free from the reſt, bound vnto thee,
that haſt it well deſerued.
That ſo our parted ſprites,
from light that we ſee here,
In place of endleſſe light and bliſſe,
may euer liue yfere.
Theſe ſaid, her ruthleſſe hand
through gyrt her valiant hart.
Ah Ladies helpe with teares to wayle,
the ladies dedly ſmart.
She grones ſhe ſtretcheth out
her limmes, ſhe ſhuttes her eyes,
And from her corps the ſprite doth flye.
what ſhould I ſay: ſhe dyes.
The watchemen of the towne,
the whilſt are paſſed by,
And through the grates the candel light
within the tombe they ſpye:
Wherby they did ſuppoſe,
inchaunters to be comme,
That with prepared inſtrumentes
had opend wide the tombe,
In purpoſe to abuſe
the bodies of the ded,
Which by theyr ſcience ayde abuſde
do ſtand them oft in ſted.
Theyr curious harts deſire,
the trueth herof to know,
Then they by certaine ſteppes deſcend,
where they do fynd below
In claſped armes ywrapt
the huſband and the wyfe,
In whom as yet they ſeemd to ſee
ſomme certaine markes of lyfe.
But when more curiouſly
with leyſure they did vew,
The certainty of both theyr deathes,
aſſuredly they knew.
Then here and there ſo long
with carefull eye they ſought,
That at the length hidden they found
the murthrers, ſo they thought.
In dongeon depe that night
they lodgde them vnder grounde,
The next day do they tell the prince
the miſchefe that they found.
The newes was by and by
throughout the towne dyſpred
Both of the takyng of the fryer,
and of the two found ded.
Thether might you haue ſeene
whole houſholdes forth to ronne.
For to the tombe where they did heare
this wonder ſtraunge was donne,
The great, the ſmall, the riche,
the poore, the yong, the olde,
With haſly pace do ronne to ſee,
but rew when they behelde.
And that the murtherers
to all men might be knowne,
Like as the murders brute abrode
through all the towne was blowne.
The prince did ſtraight ordaine,
the corſes that wer founde
Should be ſet forth vpon a ſtage,
hye rayſed from the grounde,
Right in the ſelfe ſame fourme,
(ſhewde forth to all mens ſight)
That in the hollow valt they had
been found that other night.
And eke that Romeus man,
and fryer Lawrence ſhould
Be openly examined,
for els the people would
Haue murmured, or faynd
there were ſome wayghty cauſe,
Why openly they were not calde,
and ſo conuict by lawes.
The holy fryer now,
and reuerent by his age,
In great reproche ſet to the ſhew
vpon the open ſtage.
(A thing that ill beſeemde,
a man of ſiluer heares)
His beard as whyte as mylke he bathes,
with great faſt falling teares.
Whom ſtraight the dredfull Iudge
commaundeth to declare
Both how this murther hath been donne,
and who the murthrers are.
For that he nere the tombe
was found at howres vnfitte,
And had with him thoſe yron tooles,
for ſuch a purpoſe fitte:
The frier was of liuely
ſprite, and free of ſpeche,
The Iudges woordes appald him not,
ne were his wittes to ſeeche.
But with aduiſed heed,
a while fyrſt did he ſtay,
And then with bold aſſured voyce,
aloude thus gan he ſay.
My lordes, there is not one
emong you, ſet togyther,
So that (affection ſet aſide)
by wiſdome he conſider
My former paſſed lyfe,
and this my extreme age,
And eke this heauy ſight, the wreke,
of frantike Fortunes rage,
But that amaſed much,
doth wonder at this chaunge,
So great, ſo ſodainly befalne,
vnlooked for, and ſtraunge.
For I, that in the ſpace
of .lx. yeres and tenne,
Since firſt I did begin to ſoone
to leade my lyfe with men,
And with the worldes vaine thinges
my ſelfe I did acquaint,
Was neuer yet, in open place
at any time attaynt
With any cryme, in waight,
as heauy as a ruſhe,
Ne is there any ſtander by,
can make me gylty bluſhe,
(Although before the face
of God, I doe confeſſe,
My ſelfe to be the ſinfulſt wretch
of all this mighty preſſe.)
When readieſt I am,
and likelieſt to make
My great accompt, which no man els
for me ſhall vndertake:
When wormes, the earth, and death
doe cyte me euery howre,
Tappeare before the iudgement ſeate
of euerlaſting powre,
And falling ripe I ſteppe
vpon my graues brinke:
Euen then am I moſt wretched wight
(as eche of you doth thinke.)
Through my moſt haynous deede,
with hedlong ſway throwne downe,
In greateſt daunger of my lyfe,
and domage of renowne.
The ſpring, whence in your head,
this new conceite doth ryſe,
And in your hart increaſeth ſtill
your vayne and wrong ſurmiſe:
May be the hugenes of
theſe teares of myne (percaſe,)
That ſo aboundantly downe fall,
by eyther ſyde my face.
As though the memory
in ſcriptures were not kept,
That Chriſt our ſauiour himſelfe
for ruth and pittie wept.
And more whoſo will reade,
ywritten ſhall he fynde,
That teares are as true meſſengers
of mans vngyltie mynde,
Orels (a liker proofe)
that I am in the cryme,
You ſay theſe preſent yrons are,
and the ſuſpected tyme.
As though all howres alike
had not been made aboue,
Did Chriſt not ſay the day had twelue?
whereby he ſought to proue,
That no reſpect of howres,
ought iuſtly to be had,
But at all times men haue the choyce
of dooing good or bad.
Euen as the ſprite of God,
the hartes of men doth guyde,
Or as it leaueth them to ſtray
from Vertues path aſyde.
As for the yrons that
were taken in my hand,
As now I deeme, I neede not ſeeke,
to make ye vnderſtande,
To what vſe yron firſt
was made, when it began:
How of it ſelfe it helpeth not,
ne yet can helpe a man.
The thing that hurteth, is
the malice of his will,
That ſuch indifferent thinges is wont
to vſe and order yll.
Thus much I thought to ſay,
to cauſe you ſo to know,
That neither theſe my piteous teares,
though nere ſo faſt they flowe.
Ne yet theſe yron tooles,
nor the ſuſpected time,
Can iuſtly proue the murther donne,
or damne me of the cryme,
No one of theſe hath powre,
ne power haue all the three,
To make me other then I am,
how ſo I ſeeme to be.
But ſure my conſcience
(if ſo my gylt deſerue)
For an appeacher, witneſſe, and
a hangman eke ſhould ſerue.
For through mine age, whoſe heares,
of long time ſince were hore,
And credyt greate that I was in,
with you in time to fore,
And eke the ſoiorne ſhort
that I on earth muſt make,
That euery day and howre do loke
my iourney hence to take,
My conſcience inwardly,
ſhould more torment me thriſe,
Then all the outward deadly payne
that all you could deuyſe.
But (God I prayſe) I feele
no worme that gnaweth me,
And from remorſes pricking ſting,
I ioy that I am free.
I meane as touching this,
wherwith you troubled are,
Wherwith you ſhould be troubled ſtill
if I my ſpeche ſhould ſpare.
But to the end I may
ſet all your hartes at reſt,
And plucke out all the ſcrupuls that
are rooted in your breſt:
Which might perhappes henceforth
increaſing more and more
Within your conſcience alſo,
increaſe your cureleſſe ſore:
I ſweare by yonder heauens,
whither I hope to clym,
And for a witnes of my woordes,
my hart atteſteth him,
Whoſe mighty hand doth welde
them in their vyolent ſway,
And on the rolling ſtormy ſeas
the heauy earth doth ſtay:
That I will make a ſhort
and eke a true dyſcourſe
Of this moſt wofull Tragedy,
and ſhew both thend and ſourſe
Of theyr vnhappy death,
which you perchaunce no leſſe
Will wonder at, then they (alas)
poore louers in diſtreſſe,
Tormented much in mynd
not forcing liuely breath,
With ſtrong and patient hart dyd yelde
themſelfe to cruell death.
Such was the mutuall loue,
wherin the burned both:
And of their promyſt frendſhippes fayth,
ſo ſtedy was the troth.
And then the auncient frier
began to make dyſcourſe,
Euen from the firſt of Romeus,
and Iuliets amours.
How firſt by ſodayn ſight,
the one the other choſe,
And twixt them ſelfe dyd knitte the knotte,
which onely death might loſe.
And how within a while,
with hotter loue oppreſt,
Under confeſſions cloke, to him,
them ſelfe they haue adreſt.
And how with ſolemne othes
they haue proteſted both,
That they in hart are maried
by promiſe and by othe.
And that except he graunt
the rytes of church to geue,
They ſhalbe forſt by earneſt loue,
in ſinnefull ſtate to liue.
Which thing when he had wayde,
and when he vnderſtoode,
That the agreement twixt them twayne
was lawfull honeſt, good,
And all thinges peyſed well,
it ſeemed meete to bee,
For lyke they were of nobleneſſe,
age, riches, and degree:
Hoping that ſo at length,
ended myght be the ſtryfe,
Of Montagewes and Capelets,
that led in hate theyr lyfe.
Thinking to woorke a woorke
well pleaſing in Gods ſight,
In ſecret ſhrift he wedded them,
and they the ſelfe ſame night
Made vp the mariage
in houſe of Capelet,
As well doth know (if ſhe be aſkt,)
the nurce of Iuliet.
He told how Romeus fled,
for reuing Tybalts lyfe,
And how the whilſt, Paris the Earle
was offred to hys wyfe.
And how the lady dyd,
ſo great a wrong dyſdayne,
And how to ſhrift vnto his church
ſhe came to him agayne:
And how ſhe fell flat downe
before his feete aground,
And how ſhe ſware her hand,
and blody knife ſhould wound
Her harmeles hart, except,
that he ſome meane dyd fynde
To dyſappoynt the Earles attempt,
and ſpotles ſaue her mynde.
Wherfore he doth conclude,
(although that long before)
By thought of death, and age, he had
refuſde for euermore.
The hidden artes which he
delighted in, in youth,
Yet wonne by her importunenes,
and by his inward ruth,
And fearing leſt ſhe would
her cruell vowe dyſcharge,
His cloſed conſcience he had
opened and ſet at large.
And rather did he chooſe
to ſuffer for one tyme,
His ſoule to be ſpotted ſomdeale
with ſmall and eaſy cryme,
Then that the lady ſhould,
(wery of liuyng breath)
Murther her ſelfe, and daunger much
her ſeely ſoule by death.
Wherfore, his auncient artes
agayne he puttes in vre,
A certayne powder gaue he her
that made her ſlepe ſo ſure,
That they her held for dead,
and how that frier Iohn
With letters ſent to Romeus,
to Mantua is gone,
Of whom he knoweth not
as yet, what is becomme,
And how that dead he found his frend
within her kindreds tombe.
He thinkes with poyſon ſtrong,
for care the yong man ſterued,
Suppoſing Iuliet dead, and how,
that Iuliet hath carued
With Romeus dagger drawne
her hart and yelded breath,
Deſyrous to accompany
her louer after death.
And how they could not ſaue
her, ſo they were afeard,
And hidde them ſelfe, dreding the noyſe
of watchmen that they heard.
And for the proofe of thys
his tale, he doth deſyer
The Iudge, to ſend forthwith
to Mantua for the fryer,
To learne his cauſe of ſtay,
and eke to reade his letter,
And more beſide, to thend that they
might iudge his cauſe the better,
He prayeth them depoſe
the nurce of Iuliet,
And Romeus man, whom at vnwares
beſyde the tombe he met.
Then Peter not ſo much
as erſt he was, dyſmayd,
My lords (quoth he) too true is all,
that fryer Laurence ſayd.
And when my maiſter went
into my myſtres graue,
This letter that I offer you,
vnto me then he gaue.
Which he himſelfe dyd write
as I do vnderſtand,
And charged me to offer them
vnto his fathers hand.
The opened packet doth
conteyne in it the ſame,
That erſt the ſkilfull frier ſaid,
and eke the wretches name
That had at his requeſt,
the dedly poyſon ſold,
The price of it, and why he bought,
his letters playne haue tolde.
The caſe vnfolded ſo,
and open now it lyes,
That they could wiſh no better proof,
ſaue ſeeing it with theyr eyes.
So orderly all thinges
were tolde and tryed out,
That in the preaſe there was not one
that ſtoode at all in doute.
The wyſer ſort to councell
called by Eſcalus,
Haue geuen aduyſe, and Eſcalus
ſagely decreeth thus.
The nurſe of Iuliet,
is baniſht in her age,
Becauſe that from the parentes ſhe
dyd hyde the mariage.
Which might haue wrought much good,
hau it in time been knowne,
Where now by her concealing it,
a miſcheefe great is growne.
And Peter, for he dyd
obey his maſters heſt,
In woonted freedome had good leaue
to leade his lyfe in reſt.
Thapothecary, high
is hanged by the throte,
And for the paynes he tooke with him,
the hangman had his cote.
But now what ſhall betyde
of this gray bearded ſyre?
Of fryer Lawrence thus araynde,
that good barefooted fryre.
Becauſe that many times
he woorthely did ſerue
The commen welth, and in his lyfe
was neuer found to ſwerue:
He was diſcharged quyte,
and no marke of defame,
Did ſeeme to blot,or touch at all,
the honor of his name.
But of him ſelfe he went
into an Hermitage,
Two myles from Veron towne, where he
in prayers paſt forth his age.
Tyll that from earth to heauen,
his heauenly ſprite dyd flye,
Fyue yeres he liued an Hermite, and
an Hermite dyd he dye.
The ſtraungenes of the chaunce,
when tryed was the truth
The Montagewes and Capelets
hath moued ſo to ruth,
That with their emptyed teares,
theyr choler and theyr rage,
Was emptied quite, and they whoſe wrath
no wiſdom could aſſwage,
Nor threatning of the prince,
ne mynd of murthers donne:
At length (ſo mighty Ioue it would)
by pitye they are wonne.
And leſt that length of time
might from our myndes remoue,
The memory of ſo perfect, ſound,
and ſo approued loue.
The bodies dead remoued
from vaulte where they did dye,
In ſtately tombe, on pillers great,
of marble rayſe they hye.
On euery ſyde aboue,
were ſet and eke beneath,
Great ſtore of cunning Epitaphes,
in honor of theyr death.
And euen at this day
the tombe is to be ſeene.
So that among the monumentes
that in Verona been,
There is no monument
more worthy of the ſight:
Then is the tombe of Iuliet,
and Romeus her knight.
ℂ Imprinted at London in Flete ſtrete within Temble barre, at the ſigne of the hand and ſtarre, by Richard Tottill the .xix. day of Nouember. An. do. 1562.