Of these her daughters woords, but all appalde she standes, handes. And, nigh besyde her selfe, her husband hath she sought; Sendes forth his folke in haste for her, and byds them take no leysure; Ne on her tears or plaint at all to have remorse, But, if they cannot with her will, to bring the mayde perforce. Of whom, as much as duety would, the daughter stoode in awe, Whom they not onely might pledge, alienate, and sell, (When so they stoode in neede) but more, if children did rebell, The parentes had the powre of lyfe and sodayn death. What if those good men should agayne receve the living breth? In how straight bondes would they the stubborne body bynde? What weapons would they seeke for thee? what torments would they fynde. To chasten, if they saw the lewdness of thy life, Thy great unthankfulnes to me, and shameful sturdy stryfe? So rich ere long he shal be left, his fathers welth is such, From whence his father came: and yet thou playest in this case The dainty foole and stubborne gyrle; for want of skill Thou dost refuse thy offered weale, and disobey my will. Even by his strength I sweare, that fyrst did geve me lyfe, And at our castle cald Freetowne thou freely do assent To whatsoever then shall passe twixt him, my wife, and me, From thee, to those that shall me love, me honor, and obay, I shall thee wed, for all thy life, that sure thou shalt not fayle And curse the day and howre when fyrst thy lunges did geve thee breath. Advise thee well, and say that thou are warned now, And thinke not that I speake in sporte, or mynde to break my vowe. For were it not that I to Counte Paris gave My fayth, which I must keepe unfalst, my honor so to save, That thou shouldst once for all be taught thy dutie how to knowe; Agaynst theyre children that rebeld, and shewd them selfe un kinde." These sayde, the olde man straight is gone in haste away; Ne for his daughters aunswere would the testy father stay. And after him his wyfe doth follow out of doore, And there they leave theyr chidden childe kneeling upon the floore, Then she that oft had seene the fury of her syre. Dreading what might come of his rage, nould farther styrre his yre. Unto her chaumber she withdrew her selfe aparte, Where she was wonted to unlode the sorrows of her hart. There did she not so much busy her eyes in sleping, As (overprest with restles thoughts) in piteous booteless weep ing. The fast falling of teares make not her teares decrease, Ne, by the powring forth of playnt, the cause of plaint to cease. So that to thend the mone and sorow may decaye, The best is that she seeke somme meane to take the cause away. Her wery bed betyme the woful wight forsakes, And to saint Frauncis church, to masse, her way devoutly takes. In mynde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she feeles, Her voyce with piteous playnt was made already horce, And hasty sobs, when she would speake, brake of her woordes perforce. But as she may, peace meale, she powreth in his lappe The mariage newes, a mischefe new, prepared by mishappe; Her fathers threats she telleth him, and thus concludes at last : "Once was I wedded well, ne will I wed againe ; For since I know I may not be the wedded wife of twaine, Will bring the end of all her cares by ending carefull lyfe. And eke my blood unto the earth beare record, how that I Have kept my fayth unbroke, stedfast unto my frend.” When thys her heavy tale was told, her vowe eke at an ende, Her gasing here and there, her feerce and staring looke, Did witnes that some lewd attempt her hart had undertooke. Whereat the fryer astonde, and gastfully afrayde Lest she by dede perfourme her woord, thus much to her he sayde: "Ah! Lady Juliet, what nede the wordes you spake ? I pray you, graunt me one request, for blessed Maries sake. Measure somewhat your greefe, hold here a while your peace, So holesome salve will I for your afflictions fynde, That you shall hence depart againe with well contented mynde.” And he out of the church in haste is to the chaumber gonne; To let her take Paris to spouse, since he him selfe hath byn His restles thoughts hath heaped up within his troubled hed. The execution eke he demes so much more daungerous, That to a womans grace he must him selfe commit, That yong is, simple and unware, for waighty affayres unfit. For, if she fayle in ought, the matter published, Both she and Romeus were undonne, him selfe eke punished. And then with double hast retornde where woful Juliet was; "On Wensday next, (quoth Juliet) so doth my father say, I must geve my consent; but, as I do remember, The solemne day of mariage is the tenth day of September." Out of the bondage which you feare, assuredly deliver. And, since he grew in yeres, have kept his counsels as myne owne. And him do holde as deere, as if he were my propre sonne. Should wrongfully in oughte be harmde, if that it lay in me Or timely to prevent the same in any other wise. And sith thou art his wyfe, thee am I bound to love, For Romeus friendship sake, and seeke thy anguish to remove, Wherefore, my daughter, geve good care unto my counsels sounde. Not to the nurce thou trustest so, as Romeus is thy knight. For on this threed doth hang thy death and eke thy life, My fame or shame, his weale or woe that chose thee to his wyfe. Thou art not ignorant, because of such renowne As every where is spred of me, but chefely in this towne, That in my youthfull dayes abrode I travayled, Through every lande found out by men, by men inhabited; So twenty yeres from home, in landes unknowne a gest, Or on the seas to drenching waves, at pleasure of the winde, And to a thousand daungers more, by water and by lande. That by the pleasant thought of passed thinges doth grow, know: What force the stones, the plants, and metals have to worke, When sodayn daunger forceth me; but yet most cheefly when (Not helping to do any sin that wrekefull Jove forbode.) For since in lyfe no hope of long abode I have, But now am comme unto the brinke of my appoynted grave, When love and fond desyre were boyling in my brest, Whence hope and dred by striving thoughts had banishd frendly rest. Know therefore, daughter, that with other gyftes which I And dranke with conduite water, or with any kynd of wine, And mastreth all his sences, that he feeleth weale nor woe: And so it burieth up the sprite and living breath, That even the skilful leche would say, that he is slayne by death. The happy happe or yll mishappe of thy affayre doth rest. And on the marriage day, before the sunne doe cleare the skye, |