Then I, a laughing stocke through all the towne becomme, Shall hide my selfe, but not my shame, within an hollowetoombe.' Straight underneth her foote she treadeth in the dust

Her troublesom thought, as wholy vaine, y-bred of fond distrust.
"No, no, by God aboue, I wot it well, quoth shee,
Although I rashely spake before, in no wise can it bee,
That where such perfet shape with pleasant bewty restes,pe
There crooked craft and trayson blacke should be appoynted
gestes.

Sage writers say, the thoughts are dwelling in the eyne;
Then sure I am, as Cupid raignes, that Romeus is myne.
The tong the messenger eke call they of the mynd;
So that I see he loueth me:-shall I then be vnkynd?
His faces rosy hew I saw full oft to seeke;

And straight againe it flashed foorth, and spred in eyther cheeke.
His fyxed heauenly eyne that through me quite did perceu
His thoughts vnto my hart, my thought they semed to rehearce.
What ment his foltring tunge in telling of his tale?

The trembling of his ioynts, and eke his cooller waxen pale?
And whilst I talke with him, hymself he hath exylde
Out of himself, as seemed me; ne was I sure begylde.ph
Those arguments of loue craft wrate not in his face, contend
But Natures hande, when all deceyte was banishd out of place.
What other certain signes seke I of his good wil ?

These doo suffise; and stedfast I will loue and serue him still,
Till Attropos shall cut my fatall thread of lyfe,

So that he mynde to make of me his lawfull wedded wyfe.
For so perchaunce this new aliance may procure

Vnto our houses suche a peace as euer shall endure.'

Oh how we can perswade ourself to what we like!

And how we can diswade our mynd, if ought our mynd mislyke!
Weake arguments are stronge, our fansies streyght to frame
To pleasing things, and eke to shonne, if we mislike the same.
The mayde had scarsely yet ended the wery warre,

Kept in her heart by striuing thoughtes, when euery shining starre
Had payd his borowed light, and Phebus spred in skies
His golden rayes, which seemd to say, now time it is to rise.
And Romeus had by this forsaken his wery bed,

Where restles he a thousand thoughts had forged in his hed.
And while with lingring step by Juliets house he past,
And vpward to her windowes high his gredy eyes did cast,
His loue that looked for him there gan he straight espie.
With pleasant cheere eche greeted is; she followeth with her

eye

His parting steppes, and he oft looketh backe againe,

But not so oft as he desyres: warely he doth refraine.

What life were lyke to loue, if dred of ieopardy

Y-sowred not the sweete; if loue were free from ielosy!
But she more sure within, vnseene 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 euery pane and tooting hole the wily louer knew.
In happy houre he doth a garden plot espye,

From which, except he warely walke, men may his loue descrye;
For lo! it fronted full vpon her leaning place,

Where she is woont to shew her heart by cheerfull frendly face. And lest the arbors might theyr secret loue bewraye,

He doth keepe backe his forward foote from passing there by daye; read

But when on earth the Night her mantel blacke hath spred,
Well-armd he walketh foorth alone, ne dreadfull foes doth dred.
Whom maketh Loue not bold, naye whom makes he not blinde?
He reueth daungers dread oft times out of the louers minde.
By night he passeth here a weeke or two in
vayne;
And for the missing of his marke his griefe hath hym nye slaine
And Juliet that now doth lacke her hearts releefe,-

Her. Romeus pleasant eyen I meene-is almost dead for greefe.
Eche daye she chaungeth howres, for louers keepe an howre
When they are sure to see their loue, in passing by their howre.*
Impacient of her woe, she hapt to leane one night

Within her window, and anon the moone did shine so bright
That she espyde her loue; her hart reuiued sprang;

And now for ioy she clappes her handes, which erst for woe she

wrang.

Eke Romeus, when he sawe his long desired sight,
His moorning cloke of mone cast of, hath clad him with delight.
Yet dare I say, of both that she reioyced more:

His care was great, hers twise as great was, all the tyme before
For whilst she knew not why he did himselfe absent,

Ay douting both his health and lyfe, his death she dyd lament. For loue is fearefull oft where is no cause of feare,

[weare.
And what loue feares, that loue laments, as though it chaunced
Of greater cause alway is greater woorke y-bred;
While he nought douteth of her helth, she dreads lest he be ded.
When onely absence is the cause of Romeus smart,

By happy hope of sight agayne he feedes his faynting hart.
What woonder then if he were wrapt in lesse annoye?
What maruell if by sodain sight she fed of greater ioye?
His smaller greefe or ioy no smaller loue doo proue;
Ne, for she passed him in both, did she him passe in loue:

But eche of them alike dyd burne in equall flame,

The wel-belouing knight and eke the wel-beloued dame.
Now whilst with bitter teares her eyes as fountaynes ronne,
With whispering voice, y-broke with sobs, thus is her tale be-
gonne :

"Oh Romeus, of your lyfe too lauas sure you are,

That in this place, and at thys tyme, to hasard 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, weary of my life,

With cruell hand my moorning hart would perce with bloudy. knyfe.

For you, myne own, once dead, what ioy should I haue heare? And eke my honor staynde, which I then lyfe doe holde more deare."

"Fayre lady myne, dame Juliet, my lyfe (quod he)
Euen from my byrth committed was to fatall sisters three.
They may in spyte of foes draw foorth my liuely threed;
And they also (who so sayth nay) asonder may it shreed.
But who, to reaue my life, his rage and force would bende,
Perhaps should trye vnto his payne how I it coulde defende.
Ne yet I loue it so, but alwayes, for
your sake,
A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corps betake.
If my mishappe were such, that here, before your sight,
I should restore agayne to death, of lyfe my borowde light,
This one thing and no more my parting sprite would rewe,
That part he should before that you by certaine triall knew
The loue I owe to you, the thrall I languish in,

And how I dread to loose the gayne which I doe hope to win:
And how I wishe for lyfe, not for my propre ease,

But that in it you might I loue, you honor, serue and please,
Till dedly pangs the sprite out of the corps shall send :"
And thereupon he sware an othe, and so his tale had ende.
Now loue and pitty boyle in Juliets ruthfull brest;
In windowe on her leaning arme her weary hed doth rest:
Her bosome bathd in teares (to witnes inward payne),
With dreary chere to Romeus thus aunswerd she agayne:
"Ah my dere Romeus, kepe in these woords, (quod she)
For lo, the thought of such mischaunce already maketh me
For pitty and for dred welnigh to yeld vp breath;
In euen ballance peysed are my life and eke my death.
For so my hart is knitte, yea made one selfe with yours,

That sure there is no greefe so small, by which your mynde

endures,

But as you suffer payne, so I doe beare in part

(Although it lessens not your greefe) the halfe of all your smart.

But these thinges ouerpast, if of your health and myne
You haue respect, or pitty ought my tear-y-weeping eyen,
In few vnfained woords your hidden mynd vnfolde,

That as I see your pleasant face, your heart I may beholde.
For if you doe intende my honor to defile,

In error shall you wander still, as you haue done this whyle:
But if your thought be chaste, and haue on vertue ground,
If wedlocke be the ende and marke which your desire hath
found,

Obedience set aside, vnto my parentes dewe,

The quarell eke that long agone betwene our housholdes grewe, Both me and myne I will all whole to you betake,

And following you where so you goe, my fathers house forsake, But if by wanton loue and by vnlawfull sute

You thinke in ripest yeres to plucke my maydenhods dainty frute,

You are begylde; and now your Juliet you beseekes

To cease your sute, and suffer her to liue among her likes."
Then Romeus, whose thought was free from fowle desyre,
And to the top of vertues haight did worthely aspyre,
Was fild with greater ioy then can my pen expresse,

Or, till they haue enioyd the like, the hearers hart can gesse.*
And then with ioyned hands, heaud vp into the skies,

He thankes the Gods, and from the heauens for vengeance downe he cries,

If he haue other thought but as his Lady spake;

And then his looke he toornd to her, and thus did aunswer make: "Since, lady, that you like to honor me so much

As to accept me for your spouse, I yeld myselfe for such.

In true witnes wherof, because I must depart,

Till that my deede do proue my woord, I leaue in pawne my hart. Tomorrow eke betimes, before the sunne arise,

To Fryer Lawrence will I wende, to learne his sage aquise.

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. 285, 1. 23:

"If any man be here, whom love hath clad with care,

To him I speak; if thou wilt speed," &c. 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 Hystory 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 to God," &c. p. 383, 8vo. edit. 1727. By hereres of his boke he unquestionably intended hearers in the sense I have suggested. HOLT WHITE.

He is my gostly syre, and oft he hath me taught

What I should doe in things of wayght, when I his ayde haue sought.

And at this self same houre, I plyte you here my faith,

I wil be here, (if you think good,) to tell you what he sayth." She was contented well; els fauour found he none

That night, at lady Juliets hand, saue pleasant woordes alone, This barefoote fryer gyrt with cord his grayish weede, A For he of Frauncis order was a fryer, as I reede.

Not as the most was he, a grosse vnlearned foole,

But doctor of diuinitie proceded he in schoole.

The secretes eke he knew in Natures woorkes that loorke;

By magiks arte most men supposd that he could wonders woorke.

Ne doth it ill beseeme deuines those skils to know,

If on no harmeful deede they do such skilfulnes bestow;

For iustly of no arte can men condemne the vse,

But right and reasons lore crye out agaynst the lewd abuse.
The bounty of the fryer and wisdom hath so wonne

The townes folks herts, that welnigh all to fryer Lawrence

ronne,

To shriue themselfe; the olde, the yong, the great and small; Of all he is beloued well, and honord much of all.

And, for he did the rest in wisdome farre exceede,

The prince by him (his counsell craude) was holpe at time of

neede.

Betwixt the Capilets and him great frendship grew,

A secret and assured frend vnto the Montegue.
Loued of this yong man more then any

other gest,

The frier eke of Verone youth aye liked Romeus best;

For whom he euer hath in time of his distres,

(As erst you heard,) by skilful lore found out his harmes redresse. To him is Romeus gonne, ne stayth he till the morowe;

To him he paynteth all his case, his passed ioy and sorow.
How he hath her espyde with other dames in daunce,

And how that first to talke with her himselfe he did ad

uaunce;

Their talke and change of lookes he gan to him declare,
And how so fast by fayth and troth they both y-coupled are,

That neither hope of lyfe, nor dred 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 come the old man doth disclose,