Playing ShakespeareRomeo + Juliet

Montague

Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew. Were you by when it began?

Benvolio

Here were the servants of your adversary (100)
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them. In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds, (105)
Who, nothing hurt withal, hissed him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

Lady Montague

O where is Romeo? Saw you him today? (110)
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Benvolio

Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad –
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore (115)
That westward rooteth from this city 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, (120)
Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

Montague

Many a morning hath he there been seen, (125)
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, (130)
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, (135)
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 importuned him by any means?

Montague

Both by myself and many other friends: (140)
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 (145)
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.

Enter ROMEO

Benvolio

See where he comes. So please you, step aside. (150)
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.

Exit MONTAGUE, with LADY MONTAGUE

Benvolio

Good morrow, cousin.

Romeo

Is the day so young?

Benvolio

But new struck nine.

Romeo

Ay me, sad hours seem long. (155)
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 – (160)

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, (165)
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, (170)
O anything of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness, serious vanity,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! (175)
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, (180)
Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs:
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; (185)
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

Benvolio

Soft, I will go along –
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. (190)

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. (195)

Romeo

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will –
A word ill urged to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Benvolio

I aimed so near when I supposed you loved.

Romeo

A right good mark-man! And she’s fair I love. (200)

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-armed,
From Love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharmed. (205)
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 is rich in beauty – only poor
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.(210)

Benvolio

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

Romeo

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,
For beauty, starved with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, (215)
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Benvolio

Be ruled by me: forget to think of her.

Romeo

O, teach me how I should forget to think! (220)

Benvolio

By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Examine other beauties.

Romeo

‘Tis the way
To call hers – exquisite – in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair. (225)
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair:
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read who passed that passing fair? (230)
Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.

Benvolio

I’ll pay that doctrine or else die in debt.

Exit