The dawning they shall see, ne sommer any more,

But black-faced night with winter rough (ah!) beaten ouer sore.
The wery watch discharged did hye them home to slepe,
The warders, and the skowtes were chargde theyr place and
coorse to keepe,

And Verone gates awyde the porters had set open.

When Romeus had of his affayres with frier Lawrence spoken,
Warely he walked forth, vnknowne of frend or foe,

Clad like a merchant venterer, from top euen to the toe.
He spurd apace, and came, withouten stop or stay,

To Mantua gates, where lighted downe, he sent his man away
With woords of comfort to his old afflicted syre;

And straight, in mynde to soiourne there, a lodgeing doth he hyre, And with the nobler sort he doth himselfe acquaint,

And he of his open wrong receaued the duke doth heare his plaint.

He practiseth by frends for pardon of exyle;

The whilst, he seeketh euery way his sorowes to begyle.
But who forgets the cole that burneth in his brest?
Alas! his cares denye his hart the sweete desyred rest;
No time findes he of myrth, he findes no place of joye,
But euery thing occasion giues of sorow and annoye.
For when in toorning skies the heauens lampes are light,
And from the other hemysphere fayr Phoebus chaceth night,
When euery man and beast hath rest from painefull toyle,
Then in the brest of Romeus his passions gyn to boyle.
Then doth he wet with teares the cowche wheron he lyes,
And then his sighs the chamber fill, and out aloude he cries
Against the restles starres in rolling skyes that raunge,
Against the fatall sisters three, and Fortune full of chaunge.
Eche night a thousand times he calleth for the day,
He thinketh Titans restles stedes of restines do stay;
Or that at length they haue some bayting place found out,
Or, (gyded yll,) haue lost theyr way and wandered farre about.
Whyle thus in ydel thoughts the wery time he spendeth,
The night hath end, but not with night the plaint of night he
endeth.

Is he accompanied? is he in place alone?

In cumpany he wayles his harme, apart he maketh mone:
For if his feeres reioyce, what cause hath he to ioy,

That wanteth still his cheefe delight, while they theyr loues enioye?

But if with heauy cheere they shewe their inward greefe,
He wayleth most his wretchednes that is of wretches cheefe.
When he doth heare abrode the praise of ladies blowne,
Within his thought he scorneth them, and doth preferre his owne.

When pleasant songes he beares, wheile others do reioyce,
The melodye of Musike doth styrre vp his mourning voyce.
But if in secret place he walke some where alone,

The place itselfe and secretnes redoubleth all his mone.
Then speakes he to the beastes, to fethered fowles and trees,
Vnto the earth, the cloudes, and to what so beside he sees.
To them he sheweth his smart, as though they reason had,
Eche thing may cause his heauines, but nought may make him
glad.

And (wery of the day) agayne he calleth night,

The sunne he curseth, and the howre when fyrst his eyes saw

light.

And as the night and day their course do enterchaunge,

So doth our Romeus nightly cares for cares of day exchaunge. In absence of her knight the lady no way could

Kepe trewe betwene her greefes and her, though nere so fayne she would:

And though with greater payne she cloked sorowes smart,
Yet did her paled face disclose the passions of her hart.
Her sighing euery howre, her weping euery where,

Her recheles heede of meate, of slepe, and wearing of her geare,
The carefull mother marks; then of her health afrayde,
Because the greefes increased still, thus to her child she sayde:
"Deere daughter if you shoulde long languishe in this sort,
I stand in doute that ouer-soone your sorowes will make short
Your louing father's life and myne, that loue you more
Than our owne propre breth and lyfe. Brydel henceforth ther-
fore

Your greefe and payne, yourselfe on ioy your thought to set,
For time it is that now you should our Tybalts death forget.
Of whom since God hath claymd the lyfe that was but lent,
He is in blisse, ne is there cause why you should thus lament;
You cannot call him backe with teares and shrikinges shrill :
It is a falt thus still to grudge at Gods appoynted will."
The seely soule had now no longer powre to fayne,

Ne longer could she hyde her harme, but aunswerd thus agayne,
With heauy broken sighes, with uisage pale and ded:

"Madame, the last of Tybalts teares a great while since I shed; 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 conduites 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 childe by woordes, her peace she warely

hent.

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

sorow,

All meanes she sought of her and howshold folke to know The certaine roote whereon her greefe and booteles mone doth growe.

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

Wherfore without all measure is her hart tormented sore.
And sith herselfe could not fynd out the cause of care,

She thought it good to tell the syre how yll this childe did fare.
And when she saw her time, thus to her feere she sayde:
"Syr, if you mark our daughter well, the countenance of the
mayde,

And how she fareth since that Tybalt vnto death

(Before his time, forst by his foe,) dyd yeld his liuing 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 ioy hath she, nothing contentes her hart

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

That much in daunger stands her lyfe, except somme help we fynde.

But, (out alas!) I see not how it may be founde,

Vnlesse that fyrst we might fynd whence her sorowes thus abounde.

For though with busy care I haue employde my wit,

And vsed all the wayes I knew 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 woords amasd me so
That I then could not gesse what thing els might her greeue:
But now at length I haue bethought me; and I doe beleue
The onely crop and roote of all my daughters payne

Is grudgeing enuies faynt disease; perhaps she doth disdayne
To see in wedlocke yoke the most part of her feeres,
Whilst onely she vnmarried doth lose so many yeres.
And more perchaunce she thinkes you mynd to kepe her so;
Wherfore dispayring doth she weare herselfe away with woe.

Therefore, (deere Syr,) in time, take on your daughter ruth;
For why? a brickel thing is glasse, and frayle is frayllesse 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 liue in quiet rest."
Whereto gan easely her husband to agree,

And to the mothers skilfull talke thus straightway aunswered he.
"Oft have I thought, (deere wife,) of all these things ere this,
But euermore my mynd me gaue, it should not be amisse
By farther leysure had a husband to prouyde;

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

A husband for our daughter yong, her sickenes faynt to cure,
That you shall rest content, (so warely will I choose,)
And she recouer soone enough the time she seemes to loose.
The whilst seek you to learne, if she in any part
Already hath, (vnware to vs,) fixed her frendly hart;
Lest we haue more respect to honor and to welth,
Then to our doughter's quiet life, 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 leaue my goodes and her y-thrald to such a one,
Whose chorlish dealing, (I once dead) should be her cause of

mone."

This pleasaunt aunswere heard, the lady partes agayne, And Capilet, the maydens sire, within a day or twayne, Conferreth with his frendes for mariage 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 vp, and wise; her fathers onely heyre.
Emong the rest was one inflamde with her desyre,

Who County Paris cliped was; an Earle he had to syre.
Of all the suters him the father liketh best,

And easely vnto the Earle he maketh his behest,

Both of his owne good will, and of his frendly ayde,

To win his wife vnto his will, and to perswade the mayde.

The wyfe did ioy to heare the ioyfull husband say

How happy hap, how meete a match, he had found out that day;
Ne did she seeke to hyde her ioyes 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 woing Paris and her carefull louing father.

The person of the man, the fewters of his face,

His youthfull yeres, his fayrenes, and his port, and semely

grace,

With curious wordes she payntes before her daughters eyes, And then with store of vertues prayse she heaues him to the

skyes.

She vauntes his race, and gyftes that Fortune did him geue,
Wherby (she saith), both she and hers in great delight shall liue.
When Juliet conceiued her parentes whole entent,

Whereto both loue and reasons right forbod her to assent,
Within herselfe she thought rather then be forsworne,
With horses wilde her tender partes asonder should be torne.
Not now, with bashfull brow, (in wonted wise,) she spake,
But with vnwonted boldnes straight into these woordes she brake:
"Madame, I maruell much, that you so lauasse are

Of me your childe, (your iewell once, your onely ioy and care,)
As thus to yelde me vp at pleasure of another,

Before you know if I doe like or els mislike my louer.

Doo what you list; but yet of this assure you still,

If

you do as you say you will, I yelde not there vntill.

For had I choyse of twayne, farre rather would I choose

My part of all your goodes and eke my breath and lyfe to lose,

Then graunt that he

possesse of me the smallest part: First, weary of my painefull life, 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 life, In geuing me to him, whom I ne can, ne may,

Ne ought, to love: wherfore, on knees, deere mother, I you

pray,

To let me liue henceforth, as. I have liued tofore;

Ceasse 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 doe 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 aunswere 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 vp vnto 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;