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By Root 20893 0

beastliness. Hereunto, if you apply it, ye shall deliver my doing from offence and profit yourselves. Though I saw the same argument lately set forth on stage with more commendation than I can look for -- being there much better set forth than I have or can do -- yet the same matter penned as it is may serve to like good effect, if the readers do bring with them like good minds to consider it, which hath the more encouraged me to publish it, such as it is.

--Ar. Br.

THE ARGUMENT

Love hath inflaméd twain by sudden sight,

And both do grant the thing that both desire

They wed in shrift by counsel of a friar.

Young Romeus climbs fair Juliet's bower by night.

Three months he doth enjoy his chief delight.

By Tybalt's rage provokéd unto ire,

He payeth death to Tybalt for his hire.

A banished man he 'scapes by secret flight.

New marriage is offered to his wife.

She drinks a drink that seems to reave her breath:

They bury her that sleeping yet hath life.

Her husband hears the tidings of her death.

He drinks his bane. And she with Romeus' knife,

When she awakes, herself, alas! she slay'th.

There is beyond the Alps, a town of ancient fame,

Whose bright renown yet shineth clear: Verona men it name;

Built in a happy time, built on a fertile soil

Maintained by the heavenly fates, and by the townish toil

The fruitful hills above, the pleasant vales below,

The silver stream with channel deep, that thro' the town doth flow,

The store of springs that serve for use, and eke for ease,

And other more commodities, which profit may and please,--

Eke many certain signs of things betid of old,

To fill the hungry eyes of those that curiously behold,

Do make this town to be preferred above the rest

Of Lombard towns, or at the least, compared with the best.

In which while Escalus as prince alone did reign,

To reach reward unto the good, to pay the lewd with pain,

Alas, I rue to think, an heavy hap befell:

Which Boccace scant, not my rude tongue, were able forth to tell.

Within my trembling hand, my pen doth shake for fear,

And, on my cold amazéd head, upright doth stand my hair.

But sith she doth command, whose hest I must obey,

In mourning verse, a woeful chance to tell I will assay.

Help, learnéd Pallas, help, ye Muses with your art,

Help, all ye damnéd fiends to tell of joys returned to smart.

Help eke, ye sisters three, my skilless pen t'indite:

For you it caused which I, alas, unable am to write. There were two ancient stocks, which Fortune high did place

Above the rest, indued with wealth, and nobler of their race,

Loved of the common sort, loved of the prince alike,

And like unhappy were they both, when Fortune list to strike;

Whose praise, with equal blast, Fame in her trumpet blew;

The one was clepéd Capulet, and th'other Montague.

A wonted use it is, that men of likely sort,

(I wot not by what fury forced) envy each other's port.

So these, whose egall state bred envy pale of hue,

And then, of grudging envy's root, black hate and rancour grew

As, of a little spark, oft riseth mighty fire,

So of a kindled spark of grudge, in flames flash out their ire:

And then their deadly food, first hatched of trifling strife,

Did bathe in blood of smarting wounds; it reavéd breath and life,

No legend lie I tell, scarce yet their eyes be dry,

That did behold the grisly sight, with wet and weeping eye

But when the prudent prince, who there the sceptre held,

So great a new disorder in his commonweal beheld;

By gentle mean he sought, their choler to assuage;

And by persuasion to appease, their blameful furious rage.

But both his words and time, the prince hath spent in vain:

So rooted was the inward hate, he lost his busy pain.

When friendly sage advice, ne gentle words avail,

By thund'ring threats, and princely power their courage 'gan he quail

In hope that when he had the wasting flame supprest,

In time he should quite quench the sparks that burned within their breast. Now whilst these kindreds do remain in this estate,

And each with outward friendly show doth hide his