University of Virginia Library

To the Reader.

Romeus and Iuliet.

There is beyonde the Alps,
a towne of auncient fame,
Whose bright renoune yet shineth cleare,
Uerona 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 vales belowe,
The siluer streame with chanell 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:
And on my colde amased head,
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)
vnable 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 cliped Capelet,
and thother Montagew.
A wonted vse it is,
that men of likely sorte
(I wot not by what furye forsd)
enuye eche others porte.
So these, whose egall state
bred enuye vale 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 hatchd 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 behelde.
By ientyl meane he sought,
their choler to asswage:
And by perswasion to appease
their blameful furious rage,
But both his woords and tyme,
the prince hath spent in vayne:
So rooted was the inward hate,
he lost his buysy payne.
When frendly sage aduise,
ne ientyll woords auayle:
By thondring threats, and princely powre
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 Ueron 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
thaffections of his loue,
That he no more occasion had
so vayne a sute 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
Uerona, 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 so wede in vayne,
Can reape 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 wherin 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.
Wherfore 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 yeeres.
Gan sharply him rebuke,
suche loue to him he bare:
That he was felow of his smart,
and partner of his care.
What meanst 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 vnspotted truth:
Which are of force (I weene) to moue
the hardest hart 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 thankeles 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 yeres,
and high in Fortunes grace:
What man is better shapd then 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 hart?
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.
Wherfore 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, fauour, 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 yong mans lystning eare
receiude the holesome sounde,
And reasons truth yplanted so,
within his head had grounde:
That now with healthy coole
ytempred is the heate:
And piecemeale weares 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 Uerona 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 rowte:
Not to much for the banquets sake,
as bewties to searche 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 prease, and him withdrew
into the chambers nooke.
But brighter then the sunne,
the waxen torches shone:
That mauger what he could, he was
espyd of euery one.
But of the women cheefe,
theyr gasing eyes that threwe
To woonder at his sightly shape
and bewties spotles hewe.
With which the heauens him had
and nature so bedect:
That Ladies thought the fayrest dames
were fowle in his respect.
And in theyr head beside,
an other woonder rose,
How he durst put himselfe in throng
among so many foes.
Of courage 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 theyr gestes
the courteous knights are loth,
Perhaps they stay from sharpe 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 talke,
ne harme him by theyr deede:
They neyther say, what makst thou here,
ne yet they say God speede.
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 vpright beame he wayd
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 fayre 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 prouerbe 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 onely 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 drenched 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 houngry 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 vaines:
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 floting 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 eare 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 theyr new smitten heartes
had fed on louing gleames:
Whilst passing too and fro theyr eyes
ymingled were theyr beames.
Eche 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 Uerona 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 deuise.
Euen as a Lyon would
emong the lambes be bolde:
Such was emong the bashfull maydes,
Mercutio to beholde.
With frendly gripe he ceasd
fayre Iuliets snowish hand:
A gyft he had that nature gaue
him in his swathing band.
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 brest?
The soodain 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 hewe
From pale to red, from red to pale,
and so from pale anewe:
That vehment loue was cause,
why so his tong dyd stay:
And so much more she longde 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 speake forth the rest,
to her loue drewe so nere:
And so within her mouth,
her tong 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 (quoth he) vnware to me
O lady myne is hapt?
That geues you worthy cause,
my cumming here to blisse:
Fayre Iuliet was come agayne
vnto her selfe by this.
Fyrst ruthfully she lookd,
then sayd with smylyng cheere:
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 wel bestowed tyme.
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 paynes forpast.
To serue, obey and honor 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 bewties 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 vtwerd parts doe pyne.
And but you helpe all whole,
to ashes shall I toorne:
Wherfore (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
(deare frend) then I am yours
(My honor saued) prest to bay
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 camme,
that him enchaunted 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 his foe in choyse
to geue him lyfe or death:
That scarsely can his wofull brest
keepe in the liuely breath.
Wherfore 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.
Twyse hath he made him serue,
hopeles of his rewarde:
Of both the ylles to choose the lesse,
I weene the choyse were harde.
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 sweare that guerdonles
the wretched wight should sterue.
The lot of Tantalus
is Romeus lyke to thine
For want of foode amid his foode,
the myser styll doth pine.
As carefull was the mayde
what way were best deuise
To learne his name, that intertaind
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 eare 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
distraind 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 she her 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 hed.
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,
that tempted 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 falshod 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
Uerona 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 talke 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 leuer 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 woorke ybred:
While he nought douteth of her helth,
she dreads lest he be ded.
When onely absence is
the cause of Romeus smart:
By happy hope 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 bitter teares
her eyes as fountaynes ronne:
With whispering voyce ybroke with sobs,
thus is her tale begonne.
Oh Romeus (of your lyfe)
too lauas sure you 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 peysed 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 helpe at time of neede.
Betwixt the Capilets
and him great frendship grewr
A secret and assured frend
vnto the Montegue.
Loued of this yong man more
then any other gest,
The frier eke of Uerone 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 [illeg.] 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 drift?
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 she 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 that 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 bewept,
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
Upon 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 (quoth 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 Uerona 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 Uenus child, geue leaue
the wedding to fulfill.
The painful 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 rocks
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 bridegrooms 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 seeme 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
unto 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 beware.
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,
Another 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 tofore 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 Uenus iustly might,
(as I suppose) repent,
If in thy stead (O Iuliet)
this pleasant time she spent.
This 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 fate 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 strayned 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 theyr 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 Montagewes
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 (quoth 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 waxen 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 ouerchargd with wo.
Upon 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 to clyme.
She cryde O cursed windowe,
a curst be euery pane,
Through which (alas) to sone 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 flatery 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 it 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 signes 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 had 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.
So shall I ridde my selfe
with this sharpe pointed knife:
So shall you cause your parents deere
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 promesse 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 or els 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
wihin Uerona 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 dame) in 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 coldur 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 Uenus cruel sonne
Who led him first vnto the rockes.
which he should warely shonne.
By meane wherof 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,
Uinconstant, 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 afther 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 escapd, 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.
Unto 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 Uerona 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 hauines
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 holesome 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 marinere,
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 scaping 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 wel nigh 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:
Thol 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 myselfe disguyse.
What, shall I be 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 bend tobay
the lore of reasons skill,
And wisely by her princely pow,
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 beare 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 Uerone 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 hip 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 Uenus 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 pale 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 hugy cloudes 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 Uerone 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 syre:
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 he endeth.
Is he accompanied,
is he in place alone?
In cumpany he wayles his harme,
a part he 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
where 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 the 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 clayme
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)
byd 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 coosin 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 wish 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 away 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 bewept,
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 thou 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.
On lesse by wensday next,
thou bende as I am bent,
And at our castle cald free towne,
thou freely doe assent
To [illeg.] 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 away,
Ne for his daughters aunsweres 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.
Unto 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,
For she 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 deparred 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 resties thought hath heaped vp.
within his troubled hed.
Euen of it selfe that tempt
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 vnwase,
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 care,
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 beaste? 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 pluckd
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 banishd frendly rest,
Knowe therfore (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 [illeg.] 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 hart,
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 iust
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,
Unto 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 theie 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 secretnes 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 wyfe,
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 opproched 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.
Unto 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.
Dere frend (quoth she) you knowe,
to morow is the day,
Of new contract, wherfore this night,
my purpose is to pray,
Unto 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 To morow,
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 her 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,
where 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)
ystifled in the tombe?
And whilst she in these thoughtes
doth dwell somwhat to long,
The force of her ymagining,
anon dyd waxe so strong,
That she surmysde she saw
out of the hollow vaulte,
(A griesly 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 [illeg.] naked bone:
Her dainty tender partes
gan sheuerall 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 shall 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 Uerona 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 bydden 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 hearying 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 Ueron 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 vniuersall 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 fickell 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 [illeg.]onne,
The towne folke eke commaunded are,
the fryers house to shonne.
Tyll they that hath 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 deed 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 common 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:
In 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 wyfe, 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 Uerone for a spye,
The doynges of the Capilets
by wisdome to descrye,
And for he knew her death
dyd tooch her 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 h[illeg.]
he offred vp his [illeg.]eath,
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 synde in all the towne,
A salue meete for his sore,
an oyle fit[illeg.] for his wounde,
And seeking long (alac too soone)
the thing [illeg.] sought, he founde.
An Apothecary[illeg.] sate
vnbusied [illeg.] 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 yon 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 Uerone 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
doth 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 closd 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 Uerone 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 blyst:
He watred her with teares, and then
an hundred times her kyst.
And in his folded armes,
full straightly he bet plight,
But no way could his greedy eyes
be filled with her sight,
His fearfull handes he layd
vpon her stomacke colde,
And them 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 bor 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 Tybalts 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,
meere 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 bewepe.
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 sorow swage,
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 month 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 lyte 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 anew,
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 the [illeg.] 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 hasty pace to ronne to see,
but rew when they beholde.
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 [illeg.] I steppe
vpon my [illeg.] 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,
Or els (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 Uertues 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 tofore,
And eke the soi[illeg.]e 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 they 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 [illeg.]eysed well,
it seemed [illeg.]eete 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 certaine 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 lordes (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 proofe,
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,
had 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 faund 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 Ueron 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 mynde 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 Uerona been,
There is no monument
more worthy of the sight:
Then is the tombe of Iuliet,
and Romeus her knight.