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Ne on her tears or plaint at all to haue 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.
Arriued in the place, when she her father saw,
Of whom, (as much as duety would,) the daughter stoode in awe,
The seruantes sent away, (the moscheap thought it meete),
The wofull daughter all bewept fe!! gioueling at his feete,
Which she doth washe with teares as she thus groueling lyes;
So fast and eke so plenteously distill they from her eyes:
When she to call for grace her mouth doth think to upen,
Muet she is; for sighes and soos her fearefull talke haue broken,

The syre, whose swelling worth her teares could not a:swage,
With fiery eyen, and skarlet cheeks, thus spake her in his rage
Whilst ruthfully stood by the maydens mother mylde:
“ Listen (quoth he) vnthankfull 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 vpon theyr seede the fathers 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 powrę of lyfe and sodayn death. What if those good men should agayne receave the liuyng breth? In how straight bondes would they the stubberne body bynde? What weapons would they seeke for thee? what tormentes would

they fynde, To chasten, (if they saw) the lewdnes of thy life, Thy great vnthankfulnes' to me, and shamefull sturdy strife ? Such care thy mother had, so deere thou wert to mee, That I with long and earnest sute prouided haue 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 vnworthy are too much, So rich ere long he shalbe 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 stubberne gyrle; for want of skill Thou dost refuse thy offred weale, and disobay my will. Euen' by his strength I sweare, that fyrst did geue me lyfe, And gaue me in my youth the strength to get thee on my wyfe, Onlesse by Wensday next thou bende as I am bent, And at our castle cald freetowne thou freely doe assent To Countie Paris sute, and promise to agree To whatsoeyer then shall passe twixt him, my wife, and me,

Not onely will I geue all that I haue away
From thee, to those that shall me loue, me honor, and obay,
But also too 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 wish for sodayn death,
And curse the day and howre when first thy lungės did geue

thee breath. Hores Aduise thee well, and say that thou are warned now, And thinke not that I speake it sport, or mynd to breake my

vow€. For were it not that I to Counte Paris gaue. My faythi, which I must keepe vnfalst, my honor so to sáue, Ere thon goe hence, my selfe would see thee chastned so, That thou shouldst once for all be taught thy dutie how to

knowe; And what reuenge of olde the angry syres did fynde Ag inst theyre children that rebeld, and shewd them selfe vn

: kinde.”

These sayd, the olde man straight is gone in hast away; Ne for his daughters aunswere would the testy father stay. And after him his wife doth follow out of doore, And there they leaue theyr chidden chylde kneeling vpon the

floore, Then she that oft hath seene the fury of her syre, Dreading what might come of his rage, nould farther styrre his

yre.

Vnto her chaumber she withdrew her selfe aparte,
Where she was wonted to ynlode the sorowes of her hart.
There did she not so much busy her eyes in sleping,
As ouerprest with restles thoughts, in piteous booteless weping.
The fast falling of teares make not her teares decrease,
Ne, by the powring forth of plaint, the cause of plaint doth cease.
So that to thend the mone and sorow may decaye,
The best is that she seeke some meane to take the cause away.
Her wery bed betime the wofull wight forsakes,
And to saint Frauncis church, to masse, her way deuoutly takes.
The fryer forth is calde; she prayes him heare her shrift;
Deuocion is in so yong yeres a rare and precious gyft.
When on her tender knees the dainty lady kneeles,
In minde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she

feeles,
With sighes and salted teares her shryuing doth beginne,
For she of heaped sorowes hath to speake, and not of sinne.
Her voyce with piteous plaint was made already hörce, -
And hasty sobs, when she would speake, brake of her woordes

parforce.

But as she may, peece meale, she powreth in his lappe
The mariage newes, a mischief newe, prepared by mishappe; .
Her parentes promisse 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 agayne;
For since I know I may not be the wedded wife of twayne,
For I am bound to haue one God, one faith, one make,
My purpose is as soone as I shall hence my iorney take,
With these two handes, which ioynde vnto the heauens I stretch,
The hasty death which I desire, vnto my selfe to reache.
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 vnto the earth beare record, how that I
Haue kept my fayth vnbroke, stedfast vnto my frende.”

When this her heauy tale was tolde, 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 vndertooke.
Whereat the fryer astonde, and gastfully 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, holde here a while your peace, Whilst I bethinke me of your case, your plaint and sorowes

cease. Such comfort will I geue you, ere you part from hence, And for thassaults of Fortunes yre prepare so sure defence, So holesome salue will I for your afflictions finde, That you shall hence depart agayne with well contented mynde." His wordes have chased straight out of her hart despayre, Her blacke and ougly dredfull thoughts by hope are waxen fayre. So fryer Lawrence now hath left her there alone, And he out of the church in hast is to his chaumber gone; Where sundry thoughtes within his carefull head arise ; The old mans foresight diuers doutes hath set before his eyes, His conscience one while condemns it for a sinne To let her take Paris to spouse, since he him selfe had byn The chefest cause that she vnknowne to father or mother, · Not fiue monthes past, in that selfe place was wedded to another. An other while an hugy heape of daungers dred His restles thought hath heaped vp within his troubled hed. Euen of itselfe thattempte he iudgeth perilous ; The execucion eke he demes so much more daungerous, That to a womans grace he must himselfe commit, That yong is, simple and vnware, for, waighty affaires vnfit...

For, if she fayle in ought, the matter published,
Both she and Romeus were undonne, himselfe eke punished.
When too and fro in mynde he, dyuers thoughts had cast,
With tender pity and with ruth his hart was wonne at last;
He thought he rather would in hasard set his fame,
Then suffer such adultery: resoluing on the same,
Out of his closet straight he tooke a litele glasse,
And then with double hast retornde where wofull Juliet was ;
Whom he hath found welnigh in traunce, scarce drawing breath,
Attending still to heare the newes of lyfe or els of death.
Of whom he did enquire of the appointed day; .
« On wensday next, (quod Juliet) so doth my father say,
I must geue my consent; but, (as I do remember,):
The solemne day of mariage is the tenth day of September."
“ Deere daughter, quoth the fryer, of good chere see thou be,
For loe! sainct Frauncis of his grace hath shewde a way to me,
By which I may both thee and Romeus together, '.
Out of the bondage which you feare, assuredly deliuer.
Euen from the holy font thy husband haue I knowne,
And, since he grew in yeres, have kept his counsels as mynę.

owne.
For from his youth he would vnfold to me his hart,
And often haue I cured him of anguish and of smart:
I knowe that by desert his frendship I haue wonne,
And I him holde as dere, as if he were my propre sonne....
Wherfore my frendly hart can not abyde that he
Should wrongfully in ought be harmde, if that it lay in me
To right or to reuenge the wrong by my aduise, si
Or timely to preuent the same in any other wise.
And sith thou art his wife, thee am I bound to loue, .
For Romeus frindships sake, and seeke thy anguishe to remoue,
And dreadfull torments, which thy hart besegen rounde; i
Wherefore, my daughter, geue good care vnto my counsels

sounde. Forget not what I say, ne tell it any wight, Not to the nurce thou trustest so, as Romeus is thy knight. For on this threed doth hang thy death and eke thy lyfe, My fame or shame, his weale or woe that chose thee to his wyfe. Thou art not ignorant, (because of such renowne As euery where is spred of me, but chefely in this towne,) That in my youthfull days abrode I trauayled, Through euery lande found out by men, by men inhabited; So twenty yeres from home, in landes vnknowne a gest, · I neuer gaue my weary limmes long time of quiet rest, But, in the desert woodes, to beaste of cruell kinde, Or on the seas to drenching waues, at pleasure of the winde. .

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I haue committed them, to ruth of rouers hand,
And to a thousand daungers more, by water and by lande.
But not, in vayne, (my childe,) hath all my wandring byn;
Beside the great contentednes my sprete abydeth in,
That by the pleasant thought of passed thinges doth grow,
One priuate frute more haue I pluckd, which thou shalt shortly

know :
What force the stones, the plants, and metals haue to woorke,
And diuers other thinges that in the bowels of earth do loorke,
With care I haue sought out, with payne I did them proue;
With them eke can I helpe my selfe at times of my behoue,
(Although the science be against the lawes of men)
When sodain daunger forceth me; but yet most cheefly when
The worke to doe is least displeasing vnto God
Not helping to do any sinne that wrekefull Jove forbode.
For since in lyfe no hope of long abode I haue, .
But now am comme vnto the brinke of my appointed graue,
And that my death drawes nere, whose stripe I may not shonne,
But shalbe calde to make account of all that I haue donne,
Now ought I from henceforth more depely print in mynde
The iudgement of the lord, then when youthes folly made me

blynde; When loue and fond desyre were boyling in my brest, Whence hope and dred by striuing thoughts had banishd frendly

rest.

Know therefore, (daughter,) that with other gyftes which I
Haue well attained to, by grace and fauour of the skye,
Long since I did finde out, and yet the waye I knowe,
Of certain rootes and sauory herbes to make a kinde of dowe,
Which baked hard, and bet into a powder fine,
And dronke with conduite water, or with any kynd of wine,
It doth in halfe an howre astonne the taker so,
And mastreth all his sences, that he feeleth weale nor woe:
And so it burieth vp the sprite and liuing breath,
That euen the skilfull leche would say, that he is slayne by

death.
One vertue more it hath, as meruelous as this ;
The taker, by receiuing it, at all not greeued is;
But painelesse as a 'man that thinketh nought at all,
Into a swete and quiet slepe immediately doth fall; . ..
From which, according to the quantitie he taketh,
Longer or shorter is the time before the sleper waketh:
And thence (theffect once wrought) agayne it doth restore
Him that receaued vnto the state wherin he was before.
Wherfore, marke well the ende of this my tale begonne,
And therby learne what is by thee hereafter to be donne.

VOL. XX.

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