Through my most haynous deede, with hedlong sway throwne downe, In greatest daunger of my lyfe, and domage of renowne. mise, May be the hugenes of these teares of myne, (percase,) You say these present yrons are, and the suspected tyme: Did Christ not say, the day had twelue? whereby he sought to proue, That no respect of howres ought iustly to be had, But at all times men haue the choyce of dooing good or bad; As for the yrons that were taken in my hand, As now I deeme, I neede not seeke to make ye vnderstande How of it selfe it helpeth not, ne yet can helpe a man. The thing that hurteth is the malice of his will, That such indifferent thinges is wont to vse and order yll. Thus much thought to say, to cause you so to know That neither these my piteous teares, though nere so fast they flowe, Ne yet these yron tooles, nor the suspected time, Can iustly proue the murther donne, or damne me of the cryme: No one of these hath powre, ne powre haue all the three, But sure my conscience, (if so my gylt deserue,) For an appeacher, witnesse, and a hangman, eke should serue; For through mine age, whose heares of long time since were hore, And credyt greate that I was in, with you, in time tofore, I meane, as touching this, wherwith you troubled are, Wherwith you should be troubled still, if I my speche should spare. But to the end I may set all your hartes at rest, And plucke out all the scrupuls that are rooted in your brest, Of this most wofull Tragedy, and shew both thend and sourse With strong and patient hart dyd yelde themselfe to cruell death: And of theyr promyst frendshippes fayth so stedy was the troth." Euen from the first, of Romeus and Juliets amours; And twixt them selfe dyd knitte the knotte which onely death might lose; And how, within a while, with hotter loue opprest, Vnder confessions cloke, to him themselfe they haue addrest; good, And all thinges peysed well, it seemed meete to bee Of Montagewes and Capelets, that led in hate theyr lyfe, In secret shrift he wedded them; and they the selfe same night As well doth know (if she be askt) the nurce of Juliet. He told how Romeus fled for reuing Tybalts lyfe, And how, the whilst, Paris the Earle was offred to hys wyfe; And how the lady dyd so great a wrong dysdayne, And how to shrift vnto his church she came to him agayne; And how she fell flat downe before his feete aground, His soule to be spotted somdeale with small and easy cryme, Murther her selfe, and daunger much her seely soule by death: Wherfore his auncient artes agayne he puttes in ure, A certain powder gaue he her, that made her slepe so sure, Of whom he knoweth not as yet, what is becomme; And how that dead he found his frend within her kindreds tombe. He thinkes with poyson strong, for care the yong man sterude, And how they could not saue her, so they were afeard, And for the proofe of thys his tale, he doth desyer The judge to send forthwith to Mantua for the fryer, To learne his cause of stay, and eke to reade his letter; And, more beside, to thend that they might iudge his cause the better, He prayeth them depose the nurce of Juliet, And Romeus man, whom at vnwares besyde the tombe he met. Then Peter, not so much, as erst he was, dysmayd: My lordes, (quoth he,) too true is all that fryer Laurence sayd. That erst the skilfull frier said; and eke the wretches name That had at his request the dedly poyson sold, The price of-it, and why he bought, his letters plaine haue tolde. The case vnfolded so and open now it lyes, That they could wish no better proofe, saue seeing it with theyr eyes: So orderly all thinges, were tolde, and tryed out, That in the prease there was not one that stoode at all in doute. The wyser sort, to councell called by Escalus, Here geven aduyse, and Escalus sagely decreeth thus: The nurse of Juliet is banisht in her age, Because that from the parentes she dyd hyde the mariage, Which might have wrought much good had it in time been knowne, Where now by her concealing it a mischeefe great is growne; And Peter for, he dyd obey his masters hest, In woonted freedome had good leaue to lead his lyfe in rest: Thapothecary high is hanged by the throte, And, for the paynes he tooke with him, the hangman had his cote. But now what shall betyde of this gray-bearded syre, Of fryer Lawrence thus araynde, that good barefooted fryre? Because that many time he woorthely did serue The common welth, and in his lyfe was neuer found to swerue, He was discharged quyte, and no marke of defame Did seem to blot or touch at all the honour of his name. But of himselfe he went into an Hermitage, Two myles from Veron towne, where he in prayers past forth his age; Tyll that from earth to heauen his heauenly sprite dyd flye: asswage, Nor threatning of the prince, ne mynde of murthers donne, Great store of cunning Epitaphes, in honor of theyr death. * And euen at this day the tombe is to be seene; ¶ Imprinted at London in Breval says, in his Travels, 1726, that when he was at Verona, his guide shewed him an old building, then converted into a house for orphans, in which the tomb of these unhappy lovers had been; but it was then destroyed. MALONE. |