Romeo and Juliet | Page 5

William Shakespeare
am he was not at this fray.
Benvolio. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the
golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where,--underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from
the city's side,-- So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I
made; but he was ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood: I,
measuring his affections by my own,-- That most are busied when
they're most alone,-- Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly
shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Montague. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears
augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds
with his deep sighs: But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in
the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his
chamber pens himself; Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this
humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Benvolio. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Montague. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Benvolio. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Montague. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own
affections' counsellor, Is to himself,--I will not say how true,-- But to
himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As
is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves
to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from
whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.
Benvolio. See, where he comes: so please you step aside; I'll know his

grievance or be much denied.
Montague. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true
shrift.--Come, madam, let's away,
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.]
[Enter Romeo.]
Benvolio. Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo. Is the day so young?
Benvolio. But new struck nine.
Romeo. Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went
hence so fast?
Benvolio. It was.--What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Romeo. Not having that which, having, makes them short.
Benvolio. In love?
Romeo. Out,--
Benvolio. Of love?
Romeo. Out of her favour where I am in love.
Benvolio. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous
and rough in proof!
Romeo. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without
eyes, see pathways to his will!-- Where shall we dine?--O me!--What
fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do
with hate, but more with love:-- Why, then, O brawling love! O loving
hate! O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious
vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead,

bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what
it is!-- This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?
Benvolio. No, coz, I rather weep.
Romeo. Good heart, at what?
Benvolio. At thy good heart's oppression.
Romeo. Why, such is love's transgression.-- Griefs of mine own lie
heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With
more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too
much of mine own. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea
nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A
choking gall, and a preserving sweet.-- Farewell, my coz.
[Going.]
Benvolio. Soft! I will go along: An if you leave me so, you do me
wrong.
Romeo. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here: This is not Romeo, he's
some other where.
Benvolio. Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
Romeo. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Benvolio. Groan! why, no; But sadly tell me who.
Romeo. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,-- Ah, word ill urg'd to
one that is so ill!-- In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Benvolio. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Romeo. A right good markman!--And she's fair I love.
Benvolio. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Romeo. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's
arrow,--she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay
the siege of loving terms Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, Nor
ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
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