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The woords that Tybalt usd to styrre his folke to yre,
Have in the brestes of Montagewes kindled a furious fyre.
With lyons barts they fight, warely them selfe defend;
To wound his foe, bis 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

The noyse hereof anon throughout the towne doth flye,
And parts are taken on every side; both kindreds thether hye.
Here one doth graspe for breth, his frend bestrydeth him;
And he hath lost a hand, and he another maymed lym:
His leg is cutte whilst he strikes ai 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 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,
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;-
Such seemed Romeus in every others sight,
When he him shope, of wrong receavde tavenge himselfe by fight.
Even as two thunderbolts throwne downe out of the skye,
That through the ayre, the massy earth, and seas, have powre to

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,
That vertue had to draw to it the love of many a hart.
So every one doth wish to beare a part of payne,
That he released of exyle might straight retoorne againe..
But how doth moorne emong the moorners Juliet!
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 lover hearing of her lovers banishment!
How wayles she Tybalts death, whom she had loved so well!
Her hearty greefe and piteous plaint, cunning I want to tell.
For delving depely now in depth of depe despayre,
With wretched sorrows cruell sound she fils the empty ayre:
And to the lowest hell downe falls her heavy crye,
And up unto the heavens haight her piteous plaint doth flye.
The waters and the woods of sighes and sobs resounde,
And from the hard resounding rockes her sorrowes 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 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,
And I unhappy, husbandles, of cumfort robde and blisse.
But if you did so much the blood of Capels thyrst,
Why have you often spared myne? myne might have quencht it

Synce that so many times and in so secret place,
Where you were wont with vele of love to byde your hatreds face,
My doutful lyfe hath hapt by fatall dome to stand
In mercy of your cruel hart, and of your bloudy hand.
What! seemde the conquest which you got of me so small ?
What! seemde it not enough that I, poor wretch, was made your

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,
And then, as she had lost her wittes, she cryde to Juliet:
Ah! my dere hart, quoth she, how greveth me thy death!
Alas! what cause hast thou thus sone to yeld up living breath ?
But while she handled her, and chafed every part,
She knew there was some sparke of life by beating of her hart,
So that a thousand times she cald upon her name;
There is no way to helpe a traunce but she hath tride the same :
She openeth wyde her mouth, she stoppeth close her nose,
She bendeth downe her brest, she wringeth her fingers and her

And on her bosome cold she layeth clothes hot;
A warmed and a holesome juvce 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. 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,

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