Thy absence is my death, thy fight shall geve me lyfe.
But if perhaps thou stand in dred to lead me as a wyfe,
Art thou all counsellesse? canst thou no shift devise ?
What letteth but in other weede I may my selfe disguyse ?
What, shall I be the first? hath none done so ere this,
To scape the bondage of theyr frends; thyselfe can aunswer, yes.
Or dost thou stand in doute that I thy wife ne can
By service pleasure thee as much, as may thy hyred man?
Or is my loyalte of both accompted lesse ?
Perhaps thou fear'st lest I for gayne forfake thee in distresse.
What hath my bewty now no powre at all on you,
Whose brightnes, force, and prayse, sometime up to the skyes
My teares, my frendship and my pleasures donne of olde,
Shall they be quite forgote in dede ?"-When Romeus dyd be hold
The wildnes of her looke, her cooller pale and ded,
The woorst of all that might betyde to her, he gan to dred;
And once agayne he dyd in armes his Juliet take,
And kist her with a loving kisse, and thus to her he spake:
" Ah Juliet, (quoth he) the mistres of my hart,
For whom, even now, thy servant doth abyde in dedly smart,
Even for the happy dayes which thou defyreft to fee,
And for the fervent frendship's fake that thou dost owe to mee,
At once these fansies vayne out of thy mynd roote out,
Except, perhaps, unto thy blame, thou fondly go about
To hasten forth my death, and to thine owne to ronne,
Which Nature's law and wisdome's lore teach every wight to
For, but thou chaunge thy mynde, (I do foretell the end)
Thou shalt undoo thyselfe for aye, and me thy trusty frend.
For why?-thy absence knowne, thy father will be wroth,
And in his rage so narowly he will purfue us both,
That we shall trye in vayne to scape away by flight,
And vainely seeke a loorking place to hyde us from his fight.
Then we found out, and caught, quite voyde of strong defence,
Shall cruelly be punished for thy departure hence;
I as a ravisher, thou as a careles childe,
I as a man that doth defile, thou as a mayde defilde;
Thinking to lead in ease a long contented life,
Shall short our dayes by shamefull death: -but if, my loving wife,
Thou banith from thy mynd two foes that counsell hath,
(That wont to hinder found advise) rashe hastines and wrath,
If thou be bent to obey the love of reason's skill,
And wisely by her princely powre suppresse rebelling will,
If thou our fafetie seeke, more then thine own delight,
(Since furetie standes in parting, and thy pleasures growe of
Forbeare the cause of joy, and fuffer for a while,
So shall I fafely live abrode, and safe torne from exile :
So shall no flander's blot thy spotles lyfe distayne,
So shall thy kinsmen be unstyrd, and I exempte from payne.
And thinke thou not, that aye the cause of care shall last;
These stormy broyles shall over-blowe, much like a winter's blast.
For Fortune chaungeth more than fickel fantasie;
In nothing Fortune constant is fave in unconstancie.
Her hafty ronning wheele is of a restles coorse,
That turnes the clymers hedlong downe, from better to the
And those that are beneth she heaveth up agayne:
So we shall rife to pleasure's mount, out of the pit of payne.
Ere foure monthes overpasse, such order will I take,
And by my letters and my frendes such meanes I mynd to make,
That of my wandring race ended shal be thy toyle,
And I cald home with honor great unto my native soyle.
But if I be condemnd to wander still in thrall,
I will returne to you, mine owne, befall what may befall.
And then by strength of frendes, and with a mighty hand,
From Veron will I carry thee into a foreign lande;
Not in man's weede disguysd, or as one scarcely knowne,
But as my wife and onely feere, in garment of thyne owne.
Wherefore repreffe at once the paffions of thy hart,
And where there is no cause of greefe, caufe hope to heale thy
For of this one thyng thou may'st well assured bee,
That nothing els but onely death shall funder me from thee."
The reasons that he made did feem of fo great waight,
And had with her fuch force, that she to him gan aunswere
" Dear Syr, nought els wish I but to obey your will;
But fure where so you go, your hart with me shall tarry stil,
As signe and certaine pledge, tyll here I shall you fee,
Of all the powre that over you your felfe did graunt to me;
And in his stead take myne, the gage of my good will.-
One promesse crave I at your hand, that graunt me to fulfill s
Fayle not to let me have, at fryer Laurence hand,
The tydinges of your health, and howe your doutfull case shall
And all the wery whyle that you shall spend abrode,
Cause me from time to time to know the place of your abode."
His eyes did gush out teares, a figh brake from his brest,
When he did graunt and with an othe did vowe to kepe the hest.
Thus these two lovers passe awaye the wery night,
In payne and plaint, not, as they wont, in pleasure and delight.
But now, fomew hat too foone, in farthest east arose
Fayre Lucifer, the golden starre that lady Venus chofe;
Whose course appoynted is with spedy race to ronne,
A meflenger of dawning daye, and of the ryfing fonne.
Then fresh Aurora with her pale and filver glade
Did clear the skies, and from the earth had chased ougly shade.
When thou ne lookest wide, ne closely dost thou winke,
When Phœbus from our hemisphere in westerne wave doth finke,
What cooller then the heavens do fhew unto thine eyes,
The fame, or like, fawe Romeus in farthest easterne skies.
As yet he saw no daye, ne could he call it night,
With equall force decreasing darke fought with increafing light.
Then Romeus in armes his lady gan to folde,
With frendly kisse, and ruthfully the gan her knight beholde.
With folemne othe they both theyr forowfull leave do take;
They sweare no stormy troubles shall theyr steady friendship shake.
Then carefull Romeus agayne to cell retoornes,
And in her chaumber fecretly our joyles Juliet moornes.
Now hugy cloudes of care, of forow, and of dread,
The clearnes of theyr gladsome harts hath wholy overspread.
When golden-crested Phœbus bosted him in skye,
And under earth, to scape revenge, his dedly foe doth fliye,
Then hath these lovers' day an ende, theyr night begonne,
For eche of them to other is as to the world the fonne.
The dawning they shall fee, ne sommer any more,
But black-faced night with winter rough ah! beaten over fore.
The wery watch discharged did hye them home to slepe,
The warders, and the skowtes were charged theyr place and...
And Verone gates awide the porters had set open,
When Romeus had of hys affayres with fryer Laurence spoken.
Warely he walked forth, unknowne of frend or foe,
Clad like a marchant venterer, from top even to the toe.
He spurd apace, and came, withouten stoppe or stay,
To Mantua gates, where lighted downe, he sent his man away
With woordes of comfort to his olde afflicted syre;
And straight, in mynde to fojourne there, a lodging doth he hyre.
And with the nobler fort he doth himselfe acquaynt.
And of his open wrong receaved the duke doth heare his playnt.
He practiseth by frendes for pardon of exile;
The whilft, he secketh every way his sorowes to begyle.
But who forgets the cole that burneth in his brest ?
Alas! his cares denye his hart the sweet defyred rest.
No time findes he of myrth, he fyndes no place of joy,
But every thing occasion gives of forowe and annoye.
For when in toorning skyes the heavens' lamps are light,
And from the other hemisphere fayre Phœbus chaseth night,
When every man and beast hath rest from paynefull toyle,
Then in the brest of Romeus his paffions gin to boyle.
Then doth he wet with teares the couche whereon he lyes,
And then his fighes the chaumber fill, and out aloude he cryes
Against the restles starres in rolling skies that raunge,
Against the fatall sisters three, and Fortune full of chaunge.
Eche night a thousand times he calleth for the day,
He thinketh Titan's restles steedes of restines do stay;
Or that at length they have fome bayting place found out,
Or, gyded yll, have lost theyr way and wandred farre about.
Whyle thus in ydell thoughts the wery time he spendeth,
The night hath end, but not with night the plaint of night he
Is he accompanied ? is he in place alone?
In cumpany he wayles his harme, apart he maketh mone.
For if his feeres rejoyce, what cause hath he to joy,
That wanteth ftill his cheefe delight, while they theyr loves en
But if with heavy cheere they shew their inward greefe,
He wayleth most his wretchedness that is of wretches cheefe.
When he doth heare abrode the prayse of ladies blowne,
Within his thought he scorneth them, and doth prefer his owne.
When pleafant songes he heares, wheile others do rejoyce,
The melody of musicke doth styrre up his mourning voyce.
But if in fecret place he walke some where alone,
'The place it felfe and secretnes redoubled all his mone!
Then speakes he to the beastes, to featherd fowles and trees,
Unto the earth, the cloudes, and what fo befide he fees.
To them he sheweth his smart, as though they reason had,
Eche thing may cause his heavines, but nought may make him
And wery of the world agayne he calleth night,
The fanne he curseth, and the howre when first his eyes saw light.
And as the night and day theyr course do enterchaunge.
So doth our Romeus nightly cares for cares of day exchaunge.
In absence of her knight the lady no way could
Kepe trewce betweene her greefes and her, though nere so fayne
And though with greater payne she cloked forowe's smart,
Yet did her paled face disclose the paffions of her hart.
Her fighing every howre, her weeping every where,
Her recheles heede of meate, of flepe, and wearing of her geare,
The carefull mother markes; then of her health afrayde,
Because the greefes increased still, thus to her child the fayde :
Deere daughter, if you shoulde long languishe in this forte,
I ftand in doute that over-foone your forowes will make short
Your loving father's life and myne, that love you more
Then our owne propre breth and lyfe. Brydel henceforth there-
Your greefe and payne, yourselfe on joy your thought to set,
For time it is that now you should our Tybalt's death forget.
Of whom fince God hath claymd the life that was but lent.
He is in blisse, ne is there cause why you should thus lament;
You cannot call him backe with teares and shrikinges shrill;
It is a falt thus fill to grudge at God's appoynted will."
The feely foule hath now no longer powre to fayne,
No longer could she hide her harme, but aunswered thus agayne,
With heavy broken sighes, with visage pale and ded :
"Madame, the last of Tybalt's teares a great while fince I shed;
Whose spring hath been ere this so laded out by me,
That empty quite and moystureles I gefie it now to be.
So that my payned hart by conduytes of the eyne
No more henceforth (as wont it was) shall gush forth dropping
And how the fareth fince that Tybalt unto death
Before his time, forst by his foe, did yeld his living breath,
Her face shall seeme so chaunged, her doynges eke so straunge,
That you will greatly wonder at so great and fodain chaunge.
Not onely she forbeares her meate, her drinke and fleepe,
But now the tendeth nothing els but to lament and weepe.
No greater joy hath she, nothing contents her hart
So much, as in the chaumber close to shut her felfe apart :
Where the doth so torment her poore afflicted mynde.
That much in daunger standes her lyfe, except some helpe she
But, out alas! I. fee not how it may be founde,
Unlesse that fyrst we might fynd whence her forowes thus
For though with busy care I have employde my wit,
And used all the wayes I have to learne the truth of it,
Neither extremitie ne gentle meanes could boote;
She hydeth close within her brest her secret forowe's roote.
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