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Of these her daughters woords, but all appalde she standes, And up unto the heavens she throwes her wondring head and handes.
And, nigh besyde her selfe, her husband hath she sought;
She telles him all; she doth forget ne yet she hydeth ought.
The testy old man, wroth, disdainfull without measure,
Sendes forth his folke in haste for her, and byds them take no
Ne on her tears or plaint at all to have remorse,
But, if they cannot with her will, to bring the mayde perforce.
The message heard, they part, to fetch that they must fet,
And willingly with them walkes forth obedient Juliet.
Arrived in the place, when she her father saw,
Of whom, as much as duety would, the daughter stoode in
The servantes sent away (the mother thought it meete),
The wofull daughter all bewept fell groveling at his feete,
Which she doth wash with teares as she thus groveling lyes;
So fast and eke so plenteously distill they from her eyes :
When she to call for grace her mouth doth thinke to open,
Muet she is; for sighes and sobs her fearefull talke have broken.
The syre, whose swelling wroth her teares could not asswage, With fiery eyen, and skarlet cheekes, thus spake her in his rage (Whilst ruthfully stood by the maydens mother mylde): "Listen (quoth he) unthankfull and thou disobedient childe; Hast thou so soone let slip out of thy mynde the woord, That thou so often times hast heard rehearsed at my boord? How much the Romayne youth of parentes stoode in awe, And eke what powre upon theyr seede the parentes had by
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?
Such care thy mother had, so deere thou wert to mee,
That I with long and earnest sute provyded have for thee
One of the greatest lordes that wonnes about this towne,
And for his many vertues sake a man of great renowne.
Of whom both thou and I unworthy are too much,
So rich ere long he shal be left, his fathers welth is such,
Such is the noblenes and honor of the race
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 gave me in my youth the strength to get thee on my wyfe,
Onlesse by Wensday next thou bend as I am bent,
And at our castle cald Freetowne thou freely do assent
To Countie Paris sute, and promise to agree
To whatsoever then shall passe twixt him, my wife, and me,
Not only will I geve all that I have away
From thee, to those that shall me love, me honor, and obay,
But also to so close and to so hard a gayle
I shall thee wed, for all thy life, that sure thou shalt not fayle
A thousand times a day to wishe for sodayn death,
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
For were it not that I to Counte Paris gave
My fayth, which I must keepe unfalst, my honor so to save,
Ere thou go hence, my selfe would see thee chastned so,
That thou shouldst once for all be taught thy dutie how to knowe; And what revenge of olde the angry syres did fynde
Agaynst theyre children that rebeld, and shewd them selfe un
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
Then she that oft had seene the fury of her syre.
Dreading what might come of his rage, nould farther styrre his
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
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.
The fryer forth is calde; she prayes him heare her shrift;
Devotion is in so young yeres a rare and pretious gyft.
When on her tender knees the daynty lady kneeles,
In mynde to powre foorth all the greefe that inwardly she feeles,
With sighes and salted teares her shriving doth beginne,
For she of heaped sorrowes hath to speake, and not of sinne.
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 parentes promise erst to Counte Paris past,
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,
(For I am bound to have one God, one fayth, one make,)
My purpose is as soone as I shall hence my jorney take,
With these two handes, which joynde unto the heavens I stretch,
The hasty death which I desyre, unto my selfe to reach.
This day, O Romeus, this day, thy wofull wife
Will bring the end of all her cares by ending carefull lyfe.
So my departed sprite shall witnes to the skye,
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
“Ah! Lady Juliet, what nede the wordes you spake ? 1 pray you, graunt me one request, for blessed Maries sake. Measure somewhat your greefe, hold here a while your peace, Whilst I bethinke me of your case, your plaint and sorowes cease. Such comfort will I geve you, ere you part from hence, And for thassaults of Fortunes yre prepare so sure defence, So holesome salve will I for your afflictions fynde,
That you shall hence depart againe with well contented mynde."
His wordes have chased straight out of her hart despayre,
Her blacke and ougly dredfull thoughts by hope are waxen fayre.
So fryer Lawrence now hath left her there alone,
And he out of the church in haste is to the chaumber gonne;
Where sundry thoughtes within his carefull head aryse;
The old mans foresight divers doutes hath set before his eyes.
His conscience one while condemns it for a sinne
To let her take Paris to spouse, since he him selfe hath byn
The chefest cause that she unknown to father or to mother,
Nor five monthes past, in that selfe place was wedded to another.
An other while an hugy heape of daungers dred
His restles thoughts hath heaped up within his troubled hed.
Even of itselfe thattempte he judgeth perilous;
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.
When too and fro in mynde he dyvers thoughts had cast,
With tender pity and with ruth his hart was wonne at last;
He thought he rather would in hazard set his fame,
Then suffer such adultery. Resolving on the same,
Out of his closet straight he tooke a little glasse,
And then with double hast retornde where woful Juliet was;
Whom he hath found wel nigh in traunce, scarce drawing breath,
Attending still to heare the newes of lyfe or els of death.
Of whom he did enquire of the appoynted day;
"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."
"Deere daughter, (quoth the fryer) of good cheere see thou be,
For loe! sainct Frauncis of his grace hath shewde a way to me,
By which I may both thee and Romeus together,
Out of the bondage which you feare, assuredly deliver.
Even from the holy font thy husband have I knowne,
And, since he grew in yeres, have kept his counsels as myne owne.
For from his youth he would unfold to me his hart,
And often have I cured him of anguish and of smart :
I knowe that by desert his frendship I have wonne,
And him do holde as deere, as if he were my propre sonne.
Wherefore my frendly hart can not abyde that he
Should wrongfully in oughte be harmde, if that it lay in me
To right or to revenge the wrong by my advise,
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,
And dredful torments, which thy hart besegen rounde;
Wherefore, my daughter, geve good care unto my counsels sounde.
Forget not what I say, ne tell it any wight,
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,
I never gave my weary limmes long time of quiet rest,
But, in the desert woodes, to beastes of cruell kinde,
Or on the seas to drenching waves, at pleasure of the winde,
I have committed them, to ruth of rovers hand,
And to a thousand daungers more, by water and by lande.
But not, in vayne, my childe, hath all my wandring byn ;
Beside the great contentednes my sprete abydeth in,
That by the pleasant thought of passed thinges doth grow,
One private frute more have I pluckd, which thou shalt shortly
What force the stones, the plants, and metals have to worke,
And divers other thinges that in the bowels of earth do loorke,
With care I have sought out, with payne I did them prove;
With them eke can I helpe my selfe at times of my behove,
(Although the science be against the lawes of men)
When sodayn daunger forceth me; but yet most cheefly when
The worke to doe is least displeasing unto God
(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,
And that my death drawes nere, whose stripe I may not shonne,
But shall be calde to make account of all that I have donne,
Now ought I from henceforth more depely print in mynde
The judgment of the Lord, then when youthes folly made me
When love and fond desyre were boyling in my brest,
Whence hope and dred by striving thoughts had banishd frendly
Know therefore, daughter, that with other gyftes which I
Have well attained to, by grace and favour of the skye,
Long since I did finde out, and yet the waye I knowe,
Of certain rootes and savory herbes to make a kynd of dowe.
Which baked hard, and bet into a powder fyne,
And dranke with conduite water, or with any kynd of wine,
It doth in half an howre astone the taker so,
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.
One vertue more it hath, as mervelous as this;
The taker, by receiving it, at all not greeved is;
But paineless as a man that thinketh nought at all,
Into a sweete and quiet slepe immediately doth fall;
From which, according to the quantitie he taketh,
Longer or shorter is the time before the sleper waketh :
And thence (theffect once wrought) againe it doth restore
Him that receaved unto the state wherein he was before.
Wherefore, marke well the ende of this my tale begonne,
And thereby learne what is by thee hereafter to be donne.
Cast off from thee at once the weede of womannish dread,
With manly courage arme thyselfe from heele unto the head;
For onely on the feare or boldnes of thy brest
The happy happe or yll mishappe of thy affayre doth rest.
Receve this vyoll small and kepe it as thine eye;
And on the marriage day, before the sunne doe cleare the skye,