SCENE II. A Street.

ACT I

[Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.]

CAPULET

But Montague is bound as well as I,

In penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,

For men so old as we to keep the peace.

PARIS

Of honourable reckoning are you both,

And pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.

But now my lord, what say you to my suit?

CAPULET

But saying o’er what I have said before.

My child is yet a stranger in the world,

She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;

Let two more summers wither in their pride

Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

PARIS

Younger than she are happy mothers made.

CAPULET

And too soon marr’d are those so early made.

The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,

She is the hopeful lady of my earth:

But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,

My will to her consent is but a part;

And she agree, within her scope of choice

Lies my consent and fair according voice.

This night I hold an old accustom’d feast,

Whereto I have invited many a guest,

Such as I love, and you among the store,

One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

At my poor house look to behold this night

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel

When well apparell’d April on the heel

Of limping winter treads, even such delight

Among fresh female buds shall you this night

Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,

And like her most whose merit most shall be:

Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,

May stand in number, though in reckoning none.

Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about

Through fair Verona; find those persons out

Whose names are written there, [gives a paper] and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.]

SERVANT

Find them out whose names are written here! It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good time!

[Enter Benvolio and Romeo.]

BENVOLIO

Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,

One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another’s languish:

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

ROMEO

Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.

BENVOLIO

For what, I pray thee?

ROMEO

For your broken shin.

BENVOLIO

Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

ROMEO

Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.

SERVANT

God gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?

ROMEO

Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

SERVANT

Perhaps you have learned it without book.

But I pray, can you read anything you see?

ROMEO

Ay, If I know the letters and the language.

SERVANT

Ye say honestly, rest you merry!

ROMEO

Stay, fellow; I can read.

[He reads the letter.]

Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Utruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline and Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena.

A fair assembly. [Gives back the paper] Whither should they come?

SERVANT

Up.

ROMEO

Whither to supper?

SERVANT

To our house.

ROMEO

Whose house?

SERVANT

My master’s.

ROMEO

Indeed I should have ask’d you that before.

SERVANT

Now I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Exit.]

BENVOLIO

At this same ancient feast of Capulet’s

Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;

With all the admired beauties of Verona.

Go thither and with unattainted eye,

Compare her face with some that I shall show,

And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

ROMEO

When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;

And these who, often drown’d, could never die,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.

One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun

Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.

BENVOLIO

Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,

Herself pois’d with herself in either eye:

But in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d

Your lady’s love against some other maid

That I will show you shining at this feast,

And she shall scant show well that now shows best.

ROMEO

I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,

But to rejoice in splendour of my own.

[Exeunt.]