When they had maskd a while with dames in courtly wise, The open prease, and him withdrew into the chambers nooke. How he durst put himselfe in throng among so many foes: The Capilets disdayne the presence of theyr foe, Yet they suppresse theyr styred yre; the cause I doe not knowe: Perhaps toffend theyr gestes the courteous knights are loth; Perhaps they stay from sharpe revenge, dreadyng the princes wroth; Perhaps for that they shamd to exercise theyr rage Within their house, gainst one alone, and him of tender age. They use no taunting talke, ne harme him by theyre deede, They neyther say, what makst thou here, ne yet they say, God speede. So that he freely might the ladies view at ease, And they also behelding him their chaunge of fansies please: At length he saw a mayd, right fayre, of perfect shape, Is nowe as quite forgotte as it had never been: The proverbe saith, unminded oft are they that are unseene. So novel love out of the minde the auncient love doth rive. This sodain kindled fyre in time is wox so great, That only death and both theyr blouds might quench the fiery heate. When Romeus saw himselfe in this new tempest tost, Where both was hope of pleasant port, and daunger to be lost, He doubtefull skasely knew what countenance to keepe; In Lethies floud his wonted flames were quenchd and drenched deepe. Yea he forgets himselfe, ne is the wretch so bolde To aske her name that without force hath him in bondage folde; baite: How surely are the wareles wrapt by those that lye in wayte! From syde to syde on every one dyd cast about her sight, Who for her sake dyd banish health and freedome from eche limme. He in her sight did seeme to passe the rest, as farre As Phoebus shining beames do passe the brightnes of a starre. sticke. It booted not to strive. For why?-she wanted strength; Eche of these lovers gan by others lookes to knowe, That frendship in theyr brest had roote, and both would have it grow. When thus in both theyr harts had Cupide made his breache, And eche of them had sought the meane to end the warre by speach, Dame Fortune did assent, theyr purpose to advaunce. With torch in hand a comely knight did fetch her foorth to daunce; She quit herselfe so well and with so trim a grace That she the cheefe prayse wan that night from all Verona race: The whilst our Romeus a place had warely wonne, Nye to the seate where she must sit, the daunce once beyng donne. At thone syde of her chayre her lover Romeo, And on the other syde there sat one cald Mercutio; A courtier that eche where was highly had in price, For he was courteous of his speeche, and pleasant of devise. Such was emong the bashful maydes Mercutio to beholde. M m That frosen mountayne yse was never halfe so cold, As were his handes, though nere so neere the fire he did them hold. As soon as had the knight the virgins right hand raught, Within his trembling hand her left hath loving Romeus caught. And well he wist she lovd him best, unless she list to fayne. And so much more she longd to heare what Love could teach him saye, When she had longed long, and he long held his peace, And her desyre of hearing him by sylence did increase, At last, with trembling voyce and shamefast chere, the mayde Unto her Romeus tournde her selfe, and thus to him she sayde: "O blessed be the time of thy arrivall here!" But ere she could speake forth the rest, to her love drewe so nere, That no one woord could scape her more then what already past. And of thy goodness thou agayne hast warmed it with thyne." "If so the Gods have graunted me suche favor from the skye, That by my being here some service I have donne That pleaseth you, I am as glad as I a realme had wonne. O wel-bestowed tyme that hath the happy hyre, Which I woulde wish if I might have my wished harts' desire! That lo! my mynde doeth melt awaye, my utward parts do pyne. His hand she clasped hard, and all her partes dyd shake, Eche takes away the others hart, and leaves the owne behinde. That hart with hart by even waight do make exchaunge of love. He hath forgot to ask her name, that hath his hart in holde. Both how she hight, and whence she camme, that him enchaunt ed so. So hath he learnd her name, and knowth she is no geast, Thus hath his foe in choyse to geve him life or death, That scarcely can his wofull brest keepe in the lively breath. Wherefore with pitious plaint feerce Fortune doth he blame, That in his ruth and wretched plight doth seeke her laughing game. And he reproveth love cheefe cause of his unrest, Who ease and freedome hath exilde out of his youthfull brest: Twise hath he made him serve, hopeles of his rewarde; Of both the ylles to choose the lesse, I weene, the choyse were harde, Fyrst to a ruthles one he made him sue for grace, And now with spurre he forceth him to ronne an endles race. He serveth not a cruell one, as he had done of olde; Though hap should sweure that guerdonles the wretched wight should sterve. The lot of Tantalus is, Romeus, like to thine; For want of foode, amid his foode, the myser still doth pyne. So she him namd.-Yet once again the young and wyly dame:"And tell me who is he with vysor in his hand, That yonder dooth in masking weede besyde the window stand." His name is Romeus, said shee, a Montagewe, Whose fathers pryde first styrd the stryfe which both your hous holds rewe. The word of Montagew her joyes did overthrow, And straight instead of happy hope despayre began to growe. What hap have I, quoth she, to love my fathers foe? So wel she faynde, mother ne nors the hidden harme descride. That rest have banisht from her hart, and slumber from her eyes. And now for feare she shevereth, and now for love she burnes, And now she lykes her choyse, and now her choyse she blames, And now eche houre within her head a thousand fansyes frames. Sometime in mynde to stop amyd her course begonne, Sometime she vowes, what so betyde, that tempted race to ronne. Thus dangers dred and love within the mayden fought; The fight was feerse, continuyng long by their contrary thought. In tourning mase of love she wandreth too and fro, Then standeth doutful what to doo; last, overprest with woe, How so her fansies cease, her teares did never blin, With heavy cheere and wringed hands thus doth her plaint begin. "Ah silly foole, quoth she, y-cought in soottill snare! Ah wretched wench, bewrapt in woe! ah caytife clad with care! As oft the poysond hooke is hid, wrapt in the pleasant bayte? Oft under cloke of truth hath Falshood servd her lust; And toornd their honor into shame, that did to slightly trust. And eke, for such an heynous cryme, have men not Theseus blamd? A thousand stories more, to teache me to beware, In Boccace and in Ovids bookes too plainely written are. By suttel sleight (my honour staynd) he hopes to woorke at length. So shall I seeke to find my fathers foe, his game; So (I defylde) Report shall take her trompe of blacke defame, Her troblesome thought, as wholly vaine, y-bred of fond distrust. "No, no, by God above, I wot it well, quoth shee, Although I rashely spake before, in no wise can it bee, |