Whose spring hath been ere this so laded out by me, 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 chy de by woordes, her pace she warely hent. But when from howre to howre, from morow to the morow, row, All meanes she sought of her and houshold folke to know growe. But lo, she hath in vayne her time and labor lore, Wherefore without all measure is her hart tormented sore. Syr, if you marke our daughter well, the countenance of the mayde, And how she fareth since that Tybalt unto death Before his time, forst by his foe, did yeld his living breath, So much, as in the chaumber close to shut herselfe apart: That much in daunger standes her lyfe, except some help she finde. 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 have employde my wit, And used all the wayes I have to learne the truth of it, She hydeth close within her brest her secret sorowes roote. Out of her coosin Tybalts death, late slayne of dedly foes. But now my hart doth hold a new repugnant thought; Somme greater thing, not Tybalts death, this chaunge in her hath wrought. Her selfe assured me that many days agoe She shed the last of Tybalts teares; which words amasd me so That I then could not gesse what thing els might her greeve: But now at length I have bethought me; and I do beleve The only crop and roote of all my daughters payne Is grudging envies faynt disease; perhaps she doth disdayne And more perchaunce she thinkes you mynd to kepe her so; That may be meete for our degree, and much about her age: And to the mothers skilful talke thus straightway answered he. Scarce saw she yet full sixteen yeres,-too yong to be a bryde. A husband for our daughter yong, her sicknes faynt to cure, And she recover soone enough the time she seemes to loose. mone." This pleasaunt auns wer heard, the lady partes agayne, As also well brought up, and wise; her fathers onely heyre. Who county Paris cleeped was; an earle he had to syre. And easely unto the earle he maketh his behest, Both of his owne good will, and of his frendly ayde, To win his wyfe unto his will, and to persuade the mayde. The wyfe dyd joy to heare the joyful husband say How happy hap, how meete a match, he had found out that day; But straight she hyeth to Juliet; to her she telles, apart, His youthfull yeres, his fayrenes, and his port, and seemely grace, skyes. She vauntes his race, and gyftes that Fortune did him geve, Whereto both love and reasons right forbod her to assent, But with unwonted boldnes straight into these wordes she brake: "Madame, 1 marvell much, that you so lavasse are Of me your childe, your jewell once, your onely joy and care, If you do as you say you will, I yelde not there untill. For had I choyse of twayne, farre rather would I choose My part of all your goodes and eke my breath and lyfe to loose, Then graunt that he possess of me the smallest part: Fyrst, weary of my painefull lyfe, 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 lyfe, In geving me to him whom I ne can, ne may, Ne ought, to love: wherefore, on knees, deere mother, I you pray, To let me live henceforth, as I have lived tofore; Cease all your troubles for my sake, and care for me no more; In her it lyeth to do me boote, in her it lyeth to spill. You hast away my lingring death, and double all my woe." And, nigh besyde her selfe, her husband hath she sought; Sendes forth his folke in haste for her, and byds them take no leysure; Ne on her tears or plaint at all to have remorse, But, if they cannot with her will, to bring the mayde perforce. Arrived in the place, when she her father saw, Of whom, as much as duety would, the daughter stoode in awe, Whilst ruthfully stood by the maydens mother mylde): "Listen (quoth he) unthankfull 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 stoode in awe, And eke what powre upon theyr seede the parentes 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 powre of lyfe and sodayn death. What if those good men should agayne receve the living breth? In how straight bondes would they the stubborne body bynde? What weapons would they seeke for thee? what torments would they fynde, To chasten, if they saw the lewdness of thy life, Thy great unthankfulnes to me, and shamefull sturdy stryfe? So rich ere long he shal be left, his fathers welth is such, From whence his father came: and yet thou playest in this case And gave me in my youth the strength to get thee on my wyfe, And at our castle cald Freetowne thou freely do assent To Countie Paris sute, and promise to agree To whatsoever then shall passe twixt him, my wife, and me, From thee, to those that shall me love, me honor, and obay, 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 fyrst thy lunges did geve thee breath. Advise thee well, and say that thou are warned now, And thinke not that I speake in sporte, or mynde to break my vowe. For were it not that I to Counte Paris gave My fayth, which I must keepe unfalst, my honor so to save, Ere thou go hence, my selfe would see thee chastned so, That thou shouldst once for all be taught thy dutie how to knowe; And what revenge of olde the angry syres did fynde Agaynst theyre children that rebeld, and shewd them selfe un kinde." These sayde, the olde man straight is gone in haste away; Ne for his daughters auns were would the testy father stay. And after him his wyfe doth follow out of doore, And there they leave theyr chidden childe kneeling upon 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 chaumber she withdrew her selfe aparte, Where she was wonted to unlode the sorowes of her hart. As (overprest with restles thoughts) in piteous booteless weeping. Ne, by the powring forth of playnt, the cause of plaint to cease. So that to thend the mone and sorow may decaye, The best is that she seeke somme meane to take the cause away. And to saint Frauncis church, to masse, her way devoutly takes. In mynde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she feeles, And hasty sobs, when she would speake, brake of her woordes perforce. But as she may, peace meale, she powreth in his lappe The mariage newes, a mischefe new, prepared by mishappe; Her parentes promise 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 againe; For since I know I may not be the wedded wife of twaine, With these two handes, which joynde unto the heavens I stretch, Will bring the end of all her cares by ending carefull lyfe. And eke my blood unto the earth beare record, how that I When thys her heavy tale was told, her vowe eke at an ende, Lest she by dede perfourme her woord, thus much to her he sayde: “Ah! Lady Juliet, what nede the wordes you spake? I pray you, graunt me one request, for blessed Maries sake. |