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When greatest hope he hath to hear thy virtue's fame arise?

What shall thy kinsmen think, thou cause of all their ruth?

Thy deadly foes do laugh to scorn thy ill-employéd youth.

Wherefore my counsel is, that thou henceforth begin

To know and fly the error which too long thou livedst in.

Remove the veil of love, that keeps thine eyes so blind,

That thou ne canst the ready path of thy forefathers find.

But if unto thy will so much in thrall thou art,

Yet in some other place bestow thy witless wand'ring heart.

Choose out some worthy dame, her honour thou and serve,

Who will give ear to thy complaint, and pity ere thou sterve.

But sow no more thy pains in such a barren soil,

As yields in harvest time no crop, in recompense of toil.

Ere long the townish dames together will resort;

Some one of beauty, favour, shape, and of so lovely port,

With so fast fixéd eye, perhaps thou mayst behold,

That thou shalt quite forget thy love, and passions past of old."

The young man's listening ear received the wholesome sound,

And reason's truth y-planted so, within his head had ground;

That now with healthy cool y-tempered is the heat,

And piecemeal wears away the grief that erst his heart did fret.

To his approved friend a solemn oath he plight,

At every feast y-kept by day, and banquet made by night,

At pardons in the church, at games in open street,

And everywhere he would resort where ladies wont to meet;

Eke should his savage heart like all indifferently,

For he would view and judge them all with unalluréd eye.

How happy had he been, had he not been forsworn;

But twice as happy had he been, had he been never born.

For ere the moon could thrice her wasted horns renew,

False Fortune cast for him, poor wretch, a mischief new to brew. The weary winter nights restore the Christmas games,

And now the season doth invite to banquet townish dames.

And first in Capel's house, the chief of all the kin

Spar'th for no cost, the wonted use of banquets to begin.

No lady fair or foul was in Verona town,

No knight or gentleman of high or low renown,

But Capulet himself hath bid unto his feast,

Or by his name in paper sent, appointed as a geast.

Young damsels thither flock, of bachelors a rout,

Not so much for the banquet's sake, as beauties to search out.

But not a Montague would enter at his gate,

(For as you heard, the Capulets and they were at debate)

Save Romeus, and he, in mask with hidden face,

The supper done, with other five did press into the place.

When they had masked awhile, with dames in courtly wise,

All did unmask, the rest did show them to their ladies' eyes;

But bashful Romeus with shamefast face forsook,

The open press, and him withdrew into the chamber's nook.

But brighter than the sun, the waxen torches shone,

That maugre what he could, he was espied of everyone.

But of the women chief, their gazing eyes that threw,

To wonder at his sightly shape and beauty's spotless hue,

With which the heavens him had and nature so bedecked,

That ladies thought the fairest dames were foul in his respect.

And in their head beside, another wonder rose,

How he durst put himself in throng among so many foes.

Of courage stout they thought his coming to proceed:

And women love an hardy heart, as I in stories read.

The Capulets disdain the presence of their foe,

Yet they suppress their stirréd ire, the cause I do not know:

Perhaps t'offend their guests the courteous knights are loth,

Perhaps they stay from sharp revenge, dreading the Prince's wroth.

Perhaps for that they shamed to exercise their rage

Within their house, 'gainst one alone, and him of tender age.

They use no taunting talk, ne harm him by their deed;

They neither say, "What mak'st thou here?" ne yet they say, "God speed."

So that he freely might the ladies view at ease;

And they also beholding him, their change of fancies please;

Which Nature had him taught to do with such a grace,

That there was none but joyéd at his being there in place.

With upright beam he weighed the beauty of each dame,