The Montagewes do pleade theyr Romeus voyde of falt;
The lookers on do say, the fight begonne was by Tybalt.
The prince doth pawse, and then geves sentence in a while,
That Romeus, for sleying him, should goe into exyle.
His foes woulde have him hangde, or sterve in prison strong;
His frends do think, but dare not say, that Romeus hath wrong.
Both housholds straight are charged on payne of losing lyfe,
Theyr bloudy weapons layd aside, to cease the styrred stryfe.
This common plage is spred through all the towne anon,
From side to side the towne is fild with murmur and with mone.
For Tybalts hasty death bewayled was of somme,

Both for his skill in feates of armes, and for, in time to comme
He should, had this not chaunced, been riche and of great

powre,

To helpe his frends, and serve the state; which hope within a

howre

Was wasted quite, and he, thus yelding up his breath,

More than he holpe the towne in lyfe, hath harmde it by his

death.

And other somme bewayle, but ladies most of all,

The lookeles lot by Fortunes gylt that is so late befall,

Without his falt, unto the seely Romeus;

For whilst that he from natife land shall live exyled thus,

From heavenly bewties light and his well shaped parts,

The sight of which was wont, fayre dames, to glad your youthfull

harts,

Shall you be banishd quite, and tyll he do retoorne,

What hope have you to joy, what hope to cease to moorne?
This Romeus was borne so much in heavens grace,

Of Fortune and of Nature so beloved, that in his face
(Beside the heavenly bewty glistring ay so bright,
And seemely grace that wonted so to glad the seers sight)
A certain charme was graved by Natures secret arte,
That vertue had to draw to it the love of many a hart.
So every one doth wish to beare a parte of payne,

That he released of exyle might straight retoorne againe.
But how doth moorne emong the moorners Juliet!

How doth she bathe her brest in teares! what depe sighes doth

she fet!

How doth she tear her heare! her weede how doth she rent!
How fares the lover hearing of her lovers banishment!
How wayles she Tybalts death, whom she had loved so well!
Her hearty greefe and piteous plaint, cunning I want to tell.
For delving depely now in depth of depe despayre,
With wretched sorrows cruell sound she fils the empty ayre;
And to the lowest hell downe falls her heavy crye,

And up unto the heavens haight her piteous plaint doth flye.

The waters and the woods of sighes and sobs resounde,

And from the hard resounding rockes her sorrowes do rebounde. Eke from her teary eyne downe rayned many a showre,

That in the garden where she walkd might water herbe and flowre.

But when at length she saw her selfe outraged so,

Unto her chaumber there she hide; there, overcharged with woe,
Upon her stately bed her painfull parts she threw,

And in so wondrous wise began her sorrowes to renewe,
That sure no hart so hard (but it of flynt had byn,)

But would have rude the piteous playnt that she did languishe in.
Then rapt out of her selfe, whilst she on every side

Did cast her restles eye, at length the windowe she espide, Through which she had with joye seen Romeus many a time, Which oft the ventrous knight was wont for Juliets sake to clyme.

She cryde, O cursed windowe! accurst be every pane,

Through which, alas! to sone I raught the cause of life and bane, If by thy meane I have some slight delight receaved,

Or els such fading pleasure as by Fortune straight was reaved,
Hast thou not made me pay a tribute rigorous

Of heaped greefe and lasting care, and sorrowes dolorous?
That these my tender parts, which nedeful strength do lacke
To bear so great unweldy lode upon so weake a backe,
Opprest with waight of cares and with these sorrowes rife,
At length must open wide to death the gates of lothed lyfe ;
That so my wery sprite may somme where els unlode

His deadly loade, and free from thrall may seeke els where abode ;
For pleasant quiet ease and for assured rest,

Which I as yet could never finde but for my more unrest?

O Romeus, when first we both acquainted were,

When to thy painted promises I lent my listning eare,

Which to the brinkes you fild with many a solemne othe,

And I then judgde empty of gyle, and fraughted full of troth,

I thought you rather would continue our good will,

And seek tappease our fathers strife, which daily groweth still.

I little wend you would have sought occasion how

By such an heynous act to breake the peace and eke your vowe; Whereby your bright renoune all whole yclipsed is,

And I unhappy, husbandles, of cumforte robde and blisse.

But if you did so much the blood of Capels thyrst,

Why have you often spared mine? myne might have quencht it

fyrst.

Synce that so many times and in so secret place.

Where you were wont with vele of love to hyde your hatreds face, My doubtful lyfe hath hapt by fatall dome to stand

In mercy of your cruel hart, and of your bloudy hand.

What! seemde the conquest which you got of me so small? What! seemde it not enough that I, poor wretch, was made your thrall?

But that you must increase it with that kinsmans blood,

Which for his woorth and love to me, most in my favour stood?
Well, goe hencefoorth els where, and seeke an other whyle
Some other as unhappy as I, by flattery to begyle.

And, where I comme, see that you shonne to shew your face,
For your excuse within my hart shall find no resting place.
And I that now, too late, my former fault repent,
Will so the rest of wery life with many teares lament.
That soon my joyceles corps shall yeld up banishd breath,
And where on earth it restles lived, in earth seeke rest by death.
These sayd, her tender hart, by payne oppressed sore,

Restraynd her tears, and forced her tong to kepe her talke in store;

And then as still she was, as if in sownd she lay,

And then againe, wroth with herselfe, with feeble voyce gan say: "Ah cruell murdering tong, murdrer of others fame,

How durst thou once attempt to tooch the honor of his name?
Whose dedly foes do yeld him dew and erned prayse;
For though his freedom be bereft, his honour not decayes.
Why blamst thou Romeus for slaying of Tybalt,

Since he is gyltles quite of all, and Tibalt beares the falt?
Whether shall he, alas! poore banishd man, now flye?
What place of succour shall he seeke beneth the starry skye?
Since she pursueth hym, and him defames by wrong,
That in distres should be his fort, and onely rampier strong.
Receve the recompence, O Romeus, of thy wife,
Who, for she was unkind her selfe, doth offer up her life,
In flames of yre, in sighes, in sorow and in ruth,

So to revenge the crimes she did commit against thy truth."
These said, she could no more; her senses all gan fayle,
And dedly panges began straightway her tender hart assayle;
Her limmes she stretched forth, she drew no more her breath:
Who had been there might well have seen the signes of present

death.

The nurce that knew no cause why she absented her,

Did doute lest that somme sodain greefe too much tormented

her.

Eche where but where she was, the carefull beldam sought,
Last, of the chamber where she lay she happly her bethought;
Where she with piteous eye her nurce-child did beholde,

Her limmes stretched out, her utward parts as any marble colde.
The nurce supposde that she had payde to death her det,
And then, as she had lost her wittes, she cryde to Juliet:
Ah! my dere hart, quoth she, how greveth me thy death!
Alas! what cause hast thou thus sone to yeld up living breath?

But while she handled her, and chafed every part,

She knew there was some sparke of life by beating of her hart, So that a thousand times she cald upon her name;

There is no way to helpe a traunce but she hath tride the same : She openeth wyde her mouth, she stoppeth close her nose,

She bendeth downe her brest, she wringeth her fingers and her

toes,

And on her bosome cold she layeth clothes hot;

A warmed and a holesome juyce she powreth down her throte.
At length doth Juliet heave faintly up her eyes,

And then she stretcheth forth her arme, and then her nurce she

spyes.

But when she was awakde from her unkindly traunce,

Why dost thou trouble me, quoth she, what drave thee, with

mischaunce,

To come to see my sprite forsake my bretheles corce?

Go hence, and let me dye, if thou have on my smart remorse.
For who would see her frend to live in dedly payne?

Alas! I see my greefe begonne for ever will remayne.
Or who would seeke to live, all pleasure being past?

My myrth is donne, my moorning mone for ay is like to last.
Wherefore since that there is none other remedy,

Comme gentle death, and ryve my heart at once, and let me dye."
The nurce with trickling teares, to witnes inward smart,
With holow sigh fetchd from the depth of her appauled hart,

Thus spake to Juliet, y-clad with ougly care:

"Good lady myne, I do not know what makes you thus to fare; Ne yet the cause of your unmeasurde heaviness.

But of this one I you assure, for care and sorowes stresse,

This hower large and more I thought, so god me save,

That my dead corps should wayte on yours to your untimely

66

grave.”

Alas, my tender nurce, and trusty frende, (quoth she)

Art thou so blinde that with thine eye thou canst not easely see The lawfull cause I have to sorrow and to moorne,

Since those the which I hyld most deere, I have at once forlorne."
Her nurce then aunswered thus-" Methinkes it sits you yll

To fall in these extremities that may you gyltles spill.
For when the stormes of care and troubles do aryse,
Then is the time for men to know the foolish from the wise.
You are accounted wise, a foole am I your nurce;
But I see not how in like case I could behave me wurse.
Tybalt your frend is ded; what, weene you by your teares
To call him backe agayne? thinke you that he your crying heares?
You shall perceive the falt, if it be justly tryde,

Of his so sodayn death was in his rashnes and his pryde.
Would you that Romeus him selfe had wronged so,
To suffer him selfe causeless to be outraged of his foe,

To whom in no respect he ought a place to geve?

Let it suffice to thee, fayre dame, that Romeus doth live,
And that there is good hope that he, within a while,
With greater glory shall be calde home from his hard exile,
How well y-born he is, thyselfe I know canst tell,

By kindred strong, and well alyed, of all beloved well.
With patience arme thyselfe, for though that Fortunes cryme,
Without your falt, to both your greefes, depart you for a time.
I dare say, for amendes of all your present payne,

She will restore your owne to you, within a month or twayne,
With such contented ease as never erst you
had;

Wherefore rejoyce a while in hope, and be no more so sad.
And that I may discharge your hart of heavy care,

A certaine way I have found out, my paynes ne will I spare,

To learne his present state, and what in time to comme

He mindes to do; which knowe by me, you shall knowe all and

somme.

But that I dread the whilst your sorrowes will you quell,

Straight would I hye where he doth lurke, to fryer Lawrence cell.
But if you gyn eft sones, as erst you did, to moorne,
Whereto goe I? you will be ded, before I thence retoorne.
So I shall spend in waste my time and busy payne,

So unto you, your life once lost, good aunswere comes in vayne;
So shall I ridde my selfe with this sharpe pointed knyfe,

So shall you cause your parents deere wax wery of theyr life;
So shall your Romeus, despising lively breath,

With hasty foote, before his time, ronne to untimely death.
Where, if you can a while by reason rage suppresse,
I hope at my retorne to bring the salve of your distresse.
Now choose to have me here a partner of your payne,
Or promise me to feede on hope till I retorne agayne."
Her mistres sendes her forth, and makes a grave behest
With reasons rayne to rule the thoughts that rage

brest.

within her

When hugy heapes of harmes are heaped before her eyes,
Then vanish they by hope of scape; and thus the lady lyes
Twixt well assured trust, and doubtfull lewd dyspayre :
Now blacke and ougly be her thoughts; now seeme they white

and fayre.

As oft in summer tide blacke cloudes do dimme the sonne,

And straight againe in clearest skye his restles steedes do

ronne;

So Juliets wandring mind y-clouded is with woe,

And by and by her hasty thought the woes doth overgoe.

But now is tyme to tell, whilst she was tossed thus,
What windes did drive or haven did hold her lover Romeus.
When he had slayne his foe that gan this dedly strife,
And saw the furious fray had ende by ending Tybalts life,