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 conduytes 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 chy de by woordes, her pace she warely

hent.

But when from howre to howre, from morow to the morow,
Still more and more she saw increast her daughters wonted sor-

row,

All meanes she sought of her and houshold folke to know
The certain roote where on her greefe and booteless mone doth

growe.

But lo, she hath in vayne her time and labor lore,

Wherefore without all measure is her hart tormented sore.
And sith herselfe could not fynde out the cause of care,
She thought it good to tell the syre how ill this 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 unto death

Before his time, forst by his foe, did yeld his living 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 joy hath she, nothing contents her hart

So much, as in the chaumber close to shut herselfe apart:
Where she doth so torment her poore afflicted mynde,

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,
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;

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
To see in wedlocke yoke the most part of her feeres,
Whilst only she unmarried doth lose so many yeres.

And more perchaunce she thinkes you mynd to kepe her so;
Wherefore dispayring doth she weare herselfe away with woe.
Therefore, deere Syr, in tyme, take on your daughter ruth;
For why? a brickle thing is glasse, and frayle is skillesse, youth.
Joyne 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 live in quiet rest."
Whereto gan easely her husband to agree,

And to the mothers skilful talke thus straightway answered he.
“Oft have I thought, deere wife, of all these things ere this,
But evermore my mynd me gave, it should not be amisse
By farther ley sure had a husband to provyde;

Scarce saw she yet full sixteen yeres,-too yong to be a bryde.
But since her state doth stande on termes so perilous,
And that a mayden daughter is a treasure daungerous,
With so great speede I will endeavour to procure

A husband for our daughter yong, her sicknes faynt to cure,
That you shall rest content, so warely will I choose,

And she recover soone enough the time she seemes to loose.
The whilst seeke you to learne, if she in any part
Already hath, unware to us, fixed her frendly hart;
Lest we have more respect to honor and to welth,
Then to our daughters quiet lyfe, 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 leave my goodes and her y-thrald to such a one,
Whose chorlish dealing, (I once dead) should be her cause of

mone."

This pleasaunt auns wer heard, the lady partes agayne,
And Capilet, the maydens syre, within a day or twayne,
Conferreth with his frendes for marriage of his daughter,
And many gentilmen there were, with busy care that sought her;
Both, for the mayden was well-shaped, yong and fayre,

As also well brought up, and wise; her fathers onely heyre.
Emong the rest was one inflamde with her desyre,

Who county Paris cleeped was; an earle he had to syre.
Of all the suters hym the father lyketh best,

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;
Ne did she seeke to hyde her joyes within her hart,

But straight she hyeth to Juliet; to her she telles, apart,
What happy talke, by meane of her, was past no rather
Betwene the wooing Paris and her careful loving father.
The person of the man, the features of his face,

His youthfull yeres, his fayrenes, and his port, and seemely grace,
With curious woordes she payntes before her daughters eyes,
And then with store of vertues prayse she heaves him to the

skyes.

She vauntes his race, and gyftes that Fortune did him geve,
Whereby she sayth, both she and hers in great delight shall live.
When Juliet conceved her parentes whole entent,

Whereto both love and reasons right forbod her to assent,
Within herselfe she thought rather than be forsworne,
With horses wilde her tender partes asunder should be torne.
Not now, with bashful brow, in wonted wise, she spake,

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,
As thus to yelde me up at pleasure of another,
Before you know if I do lyke or els mislike my lover.
Doo what you list; but yet of this assure you still,

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;
But suffer Fortune feerce to worke on me her will,

In her it lyeth to do 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 auns were made the sorrowes 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 up unto the heavens 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 tears or plaint at all to have remorse,

But, if they cannot 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 Juliet.

Arrived in the place, when she her father saw,

Of whom, as much as duety would, the daughter stoode in awe,
The servantes sent away (the mother thought meete),
The wofull daughter all bewept fell groveling at his feete,
Which she doth wash with teares as she thus groveling lyes;
So fast and eke so plenteously distill they from her eyes:
When she to call for grace her mouth doth thinke to open,
Muet she is; for sighes and sobs her fearefull talke have broken.
The syre, whose swelling wroth 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) 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?
Such care thy mother had, so deere thou wert to mee,
That I with long and earnest sute provyded have 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 unworthy are too much,

So rich ere long he shal be 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 stubborne gyrle; for want of skill
Thou dost refuse thy offered weale, and disobey my will.
Even by his strength I sweare, that fyrst did geve me lyfe,

And gave me in my youth the strength to get thee on my wyfe,
Onlesse by Wensday next thou bend as I am bent,

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,
Not only will I geve all that I have away

From thee, to those that shall me love, me honor, and obay,
But also to 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 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.
There did she not so much busy her eyes in sleping,

As (overprest with restles thoughts) in piteous booteless weeping.
The fast falling of teares make not her teares decrease,

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.
Her wery bed betyme the woful wight forsakes,

And to saint Frauncis church, to masse, her way devoutly takes.
The fryer forth is calde; she prayes him heare her shrift;
Devotion is in so young yeres a rare and pretious gyft.
When on her tender knees the daynty lady kneeles,

In mynde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she feeles,
With sighes and salted teares her shriving doth beginne,
For she of heaped sorowes hath to speake, and not of sinne.
Her voyce with piteous playnt was made already horce,

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,
(For I am bound to have one God, one fayth, one make,)
My purpose is as soone as I shall hence my jorney take,

With these two handes, which joynde unto the heavens I stretch,
The hasty death which I desyre, unto my selfe to reach.
This day, O Romeus, this day, thy wofull wife

Will bring the end of all her cares by ending carefull lyfe.
So my departed sprite shall witnes to the skye,

And eke my blood unto the earth beare record, how that I
Have kept my fayth unbroke, stedfast unto my frend.”

When thys her heavy tale was told, 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 undertooke.
Whereat the fryer astonde, and gast fully afrayde

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.
Measure somewhat your greefe, hold here a while your peace,
Whilst I bethinke me of your case, your plaint and sorowes cease.
Such comfort will I geve you, ere you part from hence,
And for thassaults of Fortunes yre prepare so sure defence,