That where such perfet shape with pleasant bewty restes, gestes. Sage writers say, the thoughts are dwelling in the eyne; And straight again it flashed foorth, and spred in eyther cheeke. His thoughts unto my hart, my thoughts thei semed to rehearce. The trimbling of his joynts, and eke his cooler waxen pale? But Natures hand, when all deceyte was banishd out of place. These doo suffice; and stedfast I will love and serve him styll, So that he mynde to make of me his lawful wedded wyfe. Oh how we can perswade ourself to what we like! Kept in her heart by striving thoughts, when every shining starre Where restles he a thousand thoughts had forged in his hed. With pleasant cheere eche greeted is; she followeth with her eye But not so oft as he desyres; warely he doth refrayne. Y-sowered not the sweete; if love were free from jelosy! But she more sure within, unseene of any wight, When so he comes, lookes after him till he be out of sight. In often passing so, his busy eyes he threw, That every pane and tooting hole the wily lover knew. In happy houre he doth a garden plot espye, From which, except he warely walke, men may his love descrye; For lo! it fronted full upon her leaning place, Where she is wont to shew her heart by cheerefull frendly façe. And lest the arbors might theyr secret love bewraye, He doth keepe backe his forward foote from passing there by daye; But when on earth the Night her mantel blacke hath spred, - And for the missing of his marke his greefe hath bym nye slaine. Within her windowe, and anon the moone did shine so bright And now for joy she claps her handes, which erst for wo she wrang. Eke Romeus, when he sawe his long desyred sight, His moorning cloke of mone cast of, hath clad him with delight. Yet dare I say, of both that she rejoyced more: His care was great, hers twise as great was, all the time before; For whilst she knew not why he did himselfe absent, In douting both his health and life, his death she did lament. For love is fearful oft where is no cause of feare, And what love feares, that love laments, as though it chaunced weare. Of greater cause alway is greater woorke y-bred; While he nought douteth of her helth, she dreads lest he be ded. By happy hope of sight againe he fecdes his fainting hart. The wel-beloving knight and eke the wel-beloved dame. With whispering voice, y-broke with sobs, thus is her tale be gonne : "Oh Romeus, of your life too lavas sure you are, That in this place, and at this tyme, to hazard it you dare. What if your dedly foes, my kinsmen, saw you here? Lyke lyons wylde, your tender partes asonder would they teare. In ruth and in disdayne, I, wery of my life, With cruell hand my moorning hart would perce with bloudy knyfe. For you, myne own, once dead, what joy should I have heare? Ne yet I love it so, but alwayes, for your sake, A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corps betake. And how I dread to loose the gayne which I do hope to win; In even ballance peysed are my life and eke my death. That sure there is no greefe so small, by which your mynd endures, But as you suffer payne, so I doo beare in part (Although it lessens not your greefe) the halfe of all your smart. That as I see your pleasant face, your heart I may beholde. In error shall you wander still, as you have done this while : The quarrel eke that long agoe betwene our housholdes grewe, And following you where so you goe, my fathers house forsake. But if by wanton love and by unlawfull sute You thinke in rypest yeres to plucke my maydenhoods dainty frute, You are begylde; and now your Juliet you beseekes To cease your sute, and suffer her to live among her likes." Or, tyll they have enjoyd the like, the hearers hart can gesse.* the hearers hart can gesse.] From these words it should seem that this poem was formerly sung or recited to casual passengers in the streets. See also p. 407, 1. 25: And then with joyned hands, heavd up into the skies, He thankes the Gods, and from the heavens for vengeance down he cries, If he have other thought but as his Lady spake ; And then his looke he toornd to her, and thus did answere make: "Since, lady, that you like to honor me so much As to accept me for your spouse, I yeeld myself for such. In true witnes whereof, because I must depart, Till that my deede do prove my woord, I leave in pawne my hart. To Fryer Lawrence will I wende, to learne his sage advise. What I should doe in things of waight, when I his ayde have sought. And at this self same houre, I plyte you here my faith, I will be here, if you think good, to tell you what he sayth." That night, at lady Juliets hand, save pleasant woords alone. For he of Francis order was a fryer, as I reede. Not as the most was he, a grosse unlearned foole, But doctor of divinetie proceded he in schoole. The secrets eke he knew in Natures woorks that loorke; By magicks arte most men supposed that he could wonders woorke. Ne doth it ill beseeme devines those skils to know, If on no harmeful deede they do such skilfulnes bestow; For justly of no arte can men condemne the use, But right and reasons lore crye out agaynst the lewd abuse. The bounty of the fryer and wisdom hath so wonne The townes folks harts, that wel nigh all to fryer Lawrence ronne, To shrive themselfe; the olde, the young, the great and small; Of all he is beloved well, and honord much of all. And, for he did the rest in wisdom farre exceede, The prince by him (his counsell cravde) was holpe at time of neede. Betwixt the Capilets and him great frendship grew, A secret and assured friend unto the Montague. "If any man be here, whom love hath clad with care, Malone. In former days, when the faculty of reading was by no means so general as at present, it must have been no unfrequent practice for those who did not possess this accomplishment to gratify their curiosity by listening while some better educated person read aloud. It is, I think, scarcely probable, that a poem of the length of this Tragicall History should be sung or recited in the streets: And Sir John Maundevile, at the close of his work, intreats “ alle the Rederes and HERERES of his boke, zif it plese hem that thei wolde preyen te God," &c. p. 383, 8vo. edit. 1727. By hereres of his boke he unquestionably intended hearers in the sense I have suggested. H. White. Lovd of this yong man more than any other geste, The fryer eke of Verone youth aye liked Romeus best; As earst you heard, by skilful love found out his harmes redresse And how that fyrst to talke with her him selfe he dyd advaunce; That neyther hope of lyfe, nor dread of cruel death, Shall make him false his fayth to her, while lyfe shall lend him breath. And then with weping eyes he prayes his gostly syre To further and accomplish all their honest hartes desyre. A thousand doutes and moe in thold mans hed arose, A thousand daungers like to comme the old man doth disclose, Except advise to what they like theyr bending mynd do move. That from a mountaines top thrown downe is falling halfe the wave, As warne his frend to stop amid his race begonne, Whom Cupid with his smarting whip enforceth foorth to ronne. What way were best, unknown, to ende so great an enterprise. Scarce patient tarieth whilst his leche doth make the salve to cure: So Romeus hardly graunts a short day and a night, Yet nedes he must, els must he want his onely hartes delight. Thinke, that the whilst fayre Juliet is not devoyde of care. Her hidden burning love, and eke her thought and care so colde. Upon the mayde she wayteth still;-to her she doth bewray In her, she saith, it lyes to spill, in her, her life to save. But wonne at length with promest hyre, she made a solemne vowe To know the meane of marriage, by counsell of the fryre. |