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The woords that Tybalt usd to styrre his folke to yre,
cracked skull. Theyr valiant harts forbode theyr foote to geve the grounde; With unappauled cheere they tooke full deepe and doutful
wounde. Thus foote by foote long wbile, and shylde to shylde set fast, One foe doth make another faint, but makes him not agast. And whilst this noyse is rife in every townesmans eare, Eke, walking with his frendes, the noyse doth wofull Romeus
heare With spedy foote he ronnes unto the fray apace; With him, those fewe that were with him he leadeth to the place. They pitie much to see the slaughter made so greate, That wet shod they might stand in blood on eyther side the streate. Part frendes, said he, part frendes, help, 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 uprore confounde all this our common wele. But they so busy are in fight, so egar, fierce, That through theyr eares his sage advise noleysure had to pearce. Then lept he in the throng, to part and barre the blowes As well of those that were his frends, as of his dedly foes. As soon as Tybalt had our Romeus espyde, He threw a thrust at him that would have past from side to side; But Romeus ever went, douting his foes, well armde, So that the swerd, kept out by mayle, had nothing Komeus
harmde. Thou doest me wrong, quoth he, for I but part the frare; Not dread, but other waighty cause my hasty hand doth stay. Thou art the cheefe of thine, the noblest eke thou art, Wherefore leave of thy malice now, and helpe these folke to part. Many are hurt, some slayne, and some are like to dye:No, coward, traytor boy, quoth he, straight way I mind to trye, Whether thy sugred talke, and tong so smoothly fylde, Against the force of this my swerd shall serve thee for a shylde, And then, at Romeus hed a blow he strake so hard That might have clove him to the braine but for his cunning ward: It was but lent to hym that could repay againe, And geve him deth for interest, a well-forborne gayne..
Right as a forest bore, that lodged in the thicke,
flye; So met these two, and whyle they chaunge a blow or twayne, Our Romeus thrust him through the throte, and so is Tybalt
slayne. Loe here the end of those that styrre a dedly stryfe! Who thrysteth after others death, him selfe hath lost his lyfe. The Capilets are quaylde by Tybalts overthrowe, The courage of the Montagewes by Romeus fight doth growe. The townesmen waxen strong, the Prince doth send his force ; The fray hath end. The Capilets do bring the bretheles corce Before the prince, and crave that cruell dedly payne May be the guerdon of his falt, that hath theyr kinsman slayne. 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 geves sentence in a while, That Romeus, for sleying him, should go into exyle. His foes woulde have him hangde, or sterve in prison strong; His frends 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, Brom side to side the towne is fild witb murmur 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 frends, and serve the state; which hope within a
howre Was wasted quite, and he, thus yelding up his breath, More than 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, unto the seely Romeus; For whilst that he from natife land shall live exvled thus From heavenly bewties light and his well shaped parts, The siglit of which was wont, fayre dames, to glad your youthfull
harts, Shall you be banishd quite, and tyll he do retoorne, What hope have you to joy, what hope to cease to moorne? This Romeus was borne so much in heavens grace, Of Fortune and of Nature so beloved, that in his face (Beside the heavenly bewty glistring ay so bright, And seemely grace that wonted so to glad the seers sight)
A certain charme was graved by Natures secret arte,
flowre. But when at length she saw her selfe outraged so, Unto her chaumber there she hide; there, overcharged with woe, Upon her stately bed her painfull parts she threw, And in so wondrous wise began her sorrowes to renewe, That sure no hart so hard (but it of flynt had byn,) But would have rude the piteous playnt that she did languishe in. Then rapt out of her selfe, whilst she on every side Did cast her restles eye, at length the windowe she espide, Through which she had with jove seene Romeus many a time, Which oft the ventrous knight was wont for Juliets sake to clyme.
She cryde, O cursed windowe! acurst be every pane, Through which, alas! to sone I raught the cause of life and bane, If by thy meane I have some slight delight receaved, Or els such fading pleasure as by Fortune straight was reaved, Hast thou not made me pay a tribute rigorous Of heaped greefe and lasting care, and sorrowes dolorous ? That these my tender parts, which nedeful strength do lacke To bear so great unweldy lode upon so weake a backe, Opprest with waight of cares and with these sorrowes rife, At length must open wide to death the gates of lothed lyfe; That so my wery sprite may somme wiere eis unlodle His (leadly loade, and free from thrall may seeke els where abode ; For pleasant quiet ease and for assured rest, Which I as yet could never finde but for my more unrest? O Romeus, when first we both acquainted were, When to thy painted promises I lent my listning eare, Which to the brinkes you fild with many a solemne othe, And I then julgrie 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 have sought occasion how By such an beynous act to breake the peace and eke your vowe;
Whereby your bright renoune all whole yclipsed is,
thrall? But that you must increase it with that kinsmans blood, Which for his woorth and love to ine, most in my favour stood? Well, goe hencefoortb els where, and seeke an other whyle Some other as unhappy as I, by flattery 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 soon my joyceles corps shall yeld up banishd breath, And where on earth it restles lived, in earth seeke rest by death.
These sayd, her tender hart, by payne oppressed sore, Restraynd her tears, and forced her tong to kepe her talke in
store; And then as still she was, as if in sownd she lay, And then againe, wroth with herselfe, with feble voyce gan say:
“ Ah cruell murdering tong, murdrer of others fame, How durst thou once attempt to tooch the honor of his name? Whose dedly foes do yeld him dew and erned prayse; For though his free.lom be bereft, his honour not decayes. Why blamst thou Romeus for slaying of Tybalt, Since be is gyltles quite of all, and Tibalt beares the falt? Whether shall he, alas! poore banishd man, now flye? What place of succour shall he seeke beneth the starry skye? Since she pursueth hym, and him defames by wrong, That in distres should be his fort, and onely rampier strong. Receve the recompence, O Romeus, of thy wife, Who, for she was unkind her selfe, doth offer up her life, In flames of yre, in sighes, in sorow and in ruth, So to revenge the crime she did commit against thy truth.” These said, she could no more; her senses all gan fayle, And dedly panges began straightway her tender hart assayle;Her limmes she stretched forth, she drew no more her breath : Who had been there might well have seen the signes of present
death. The nurce that knew no cause why she absented her, Did doute lest that somme sodayn greefe too much tormented her: Eche where but where she was, the carefull beldam sought, Last, of the chamber where she lay she happly her bethought; Where she with piteolis eye her nurce-child did beholde, Her kimmes stretched out, her utward parts as any marble colde.
The nurce supposde that she had payde to death her det,
spyes. But when she was awakde from her unkindly traunce, “Why dost thou trouble me, quoth she, what drave thee, with
mischaunce, To come to see my sprite forsake my bretheles corse? Go hence, and let me dye, if thou have on my smart remorse. For who would see her frend to live in dedly payne? Alas! I see my greefe begonne for ever will remayne. Or who would seeke to live, all pleasure being past ? My myrth is donne, my moorning mone for ay is like to last. Wherefore since that there is none other remedy, Comme gentle death, and ryve my heart at once, and let me dye." The nurce with trickling teares, to witnes inward smart, With holow sigh fetchd from the depth of her appauled hart, Thus spake to Juliet, y-clad with ougly care: “Good lady myne, I do not know what makes you thus to fare; Ne yet the cause of your unmeasurde heaviness. But of this one I you assure, for care and sorowes stresse, This hower large and more I thought, so God me save, That my dead corps should wayte on yours to your untimely
grave.” " Alas, my tender nurce, and trusty frende, (quoth she) Art thou so blinde that with thine eye thou canst not easely see The lawfull cause I have to sorow and to moorne, Since those the which I hyld most deere, I have at once forlorne." Her nurce then aunswered thus—" Methinkes it fits you yll To fall in these extremities that you may 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 behave me wurse. Tybalt your frend is ded; what, weene you by your teares To call him backe againe? thinke vou that he vour crying heares ? You shall perceive the falt, if it be justly tryde, Of his so sodayn death was in his rashnes and his pryde. Would you that Romeus bim selfe had wronged so, To suffer him selfe causeles to be outraged of his foe,