The woords that Tybalt usd to styrre his folke to yre, 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 parts are taken on every side; both kindreds thether hye. His leg is cutte whilst he strikes at another full, And whom he would have thrust quite through, hath cleft his 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 while, and shylde to shylde set fast, 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. That through theyr eares his sage advise no leysure had to pearce. 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 Romeus harmde. Thou doest me wrong, quoth he, for I but part the fraye; Wherefore leave of thy malice now, and helpe these folke to part. Against the force of this my swerd shall serve thee for a shylde. 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, Pinched with dog, or els with speare y-pricked to the quicke, His bristles styffe upright upon his backe doth set, And in his fomy mouth his sharp and crooked tuskes doth whet; Or as a lyon wilde, that raumpeth in his rage, His whelps bereft, whose fury can no weaker beast asswage;- When he him shope, of wrong receavde tavenge himselfe by fight. 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 courage of the Montagewes by Romeus fight_doth growe. Both for his skill in feates of armes, and for, in time to comme 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 exyled thus From heavenly bewties light and his well shaped parts, The sight of which was wont, fayre dames, to glad your youthful! harts, Shall you be banishd quite, and tyll he do retoorne, What hope have you to joy, what hope to cease to moorne ? Of Fortune and of Nature so beloved, that in his face A certain charme was graved by Natures secret arte, That he released of exyle might straight retoorne againe. 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 wayles she Tybalts death, whom she had loved so well! And up unto the heavens haight her piteous plaint doth flye. And from the hard resounding rockes her sorrowes do rebounde. 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 there she hide; there, overcharged with woe, And in so wondrous wise began her sorrowes to renewe, But would have rude the piteous playnt that she did languishe in. Did cast her restles eye, at length the windowe she espide, Through which she had with joye 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, Of heaped greefe and lasting care, and sorrowes dolorous? His deadly loade, and free from thrall may seeke els where abode, 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 judge 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, And I unhappy, husbandles, of cumfort robde and blisse. Why have you often spared myne? myne might have quencht it fyrst. Synce that so many times and in so secret place, Where you were wont with vele of love to hyde your hatreds face, In mercy of your cruel hart, and of your bloudy hand. But that you must increase it with that kinsmans blood, And, where I comme, see that you shonne to shew your face, 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? Since he is gyltles quite of all, and Tibalt beares the falt? What place of succour shall he seeke beneth the starry skye? So to revenge the crime she did commit against thy truth." death. The nurce that knew no cause why she absented her, The nurce supposde that she had payde to death her det, She knew there was some sparke of life by beating of her hart, There is no way to helpe a traunce but she hath tride the same: toes, And on her bosome cold she layeth clothes hot; A warmed and a holesome juyce she powreth down her throte. At length doth Juliet heave faintly up her eyes, And then she stretcheth forth her arme, and then her nurce she 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. Alas! I see my greefe begonne for ever will remayne. My myrth is donne, my moorning mone for ay is like to last. Comme gentle death, and ryve my heart at once, and let me dye." 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, 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 Since those the which I hyld most deere, I have at once forlorne." 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 you that he vour crying heares? Of his so sodayn death was in his rashnes and his pryde. |