Enter Prince Escalus with his train

PRINCE

Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,

Profaners of this neighbour-stained steet—

Will they not hear? What ho, you men, you beasts,

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

With purple fountains issuing from your veins:

On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved Prince.

⌈Montague, Capulet, and their followers throw down their weapons]

Three civil brawls bred of an airy word

By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets

And made Verona’s ancient citizens

Cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments

To wield old partisans in hands as old,

Cankered with peace, to part your cankered hate.

If ever you disturb our streets again

Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

For this time all the rest depart away.

You, Capulet, shall go along with me;

And Montague, come you this afternoon

To know our farther pleasure in this case

To old Freetown, our common judgement-place.

Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Exeunt all but Montague, his Wife, and Benvolio

MONTAGUE

Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?

Speak, nephew: were you by when it began?

BENVOLIO

Here were the servants of your adversary

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

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.

MONTAGUE’S WIFE

O where is Romeo—saw you him today?

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 drive me to walk abroad,

Where, underneath the grove of sycamore

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—

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,

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,

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,

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,

But he, his own affection’s 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

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,

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.

Exeunt Montague and his Wife

BENVOLIO

Good morrow, cousin.

ROMEO Is the day so young?

BENVOLIO

But new struck nine.

ROMEO Ay me, sad hours seem long.

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.

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,

Should without eyes see pathways to his will.

Where shall we dine? ⌈Seeing blood⌉ 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,

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,