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Of greater cause alway is greater work y-bred;

While he nought doubteth of her health, she dreads lest he be dead.

When only absence is the cause of Romeus' smart,

By happy hope of sight again he feeds his fainting heart.

What wonder then if he were wrapped in less annoy?

What marvel if by sudden sight she fed of greater joy

His smaller grief or joy no smaller love do prove;

Ne, for she passed him in both, did she him pass in love:

But each of them alike did burn in equal flame,

The well-beloving knight and eke the well-beloved dame.

Now whilst with bitter tears her eyes as fountains run,

With whispering voice, y-broke with sobs, thus is her tale begun:

"O Romeus, of your life too lavas sure you are,

That in this place, and at this time, to hazard it you dare.

What if your deadly foes, my kinsmen, saw you here?

Like lions wild, your tender parts asunder would they tear.

In ruth and in disdain, I, weary of my life,

With cruel hand my mourning heart would pierce with bloody knife.

For you, mine own, once dead, what joy should I have here?

And eke my honour stained, which I than life do hold more dear."

"Fair lady mine, dame Juliet, my life," quod he,

"Even from my birth committed was to fatal sisters three.

They may in spite of foes draw forth my lively thread;

And they also, whoso saith nay, asunder may it shred.

But who to reave my life, his rage and force would bend,

Perhaps should try unto his pain how I it could defend.

Ne yet I love it so, but always for your sake,

A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corpse betake.

If my mishap were such, that here before your sight,

I should restore again to death, of life, my borrowed light,

This one thing and no more my parting sprite would rue,

That part he should before that you by certain trial knew

The love I owe to you, the thrall I languish in,

And how I dread to lose the gain which I do hope to win;

And how I wish for life, not for my proper ease,

But that in it you might I love, you honour, serve and please,

Till deadly pangs the sprite out of the corpse shall send."

And thereupon he sware an oath, and so his tale had end. Now love and pity boil in Juliet's ruthful breast;

In window on her leaning arm her weary head doth rest;

Her bosom bathed in tears, to witness inward pain,

With dreary cheer to Romeus thus answered she again:

"Ah, my dear Romeus, keep in these words," quod she,

"For lo, the thought of such mischance already maketh me

For pity and for dread well-nigh to yield up breath;

In even balance peiséd are my life and eke my death.

For so my heart is knit, yea, made one self with yours,

That sure there is no grief so small, by which your mind endures,

But as you suffer pain, so I do bear in part,

Although it lessens not your grief, the half of all your smart.

But these things overpast, if of your health and mine

You have respect, or pity aught my teary, weeping eyne,

In few unfained words your hidden mind unfold,

That as I see your pleasant face, your heart I may behold.

For if you do intend my honour to defile,

In error shall you wander still, as you have done this while;

But if your thought be chaste, and have on virtue ground,

If wedlock be the end and mark which your desire hath found,

Obedience set aside, unto my parents due,

The quarrel eke that long ago between our households grew,

Both me and mine I will all whole to you betake,

And following you whereso you go, my father's house forsake.

But if by wanton love and by unlawful suit

You think in ripest years to pluck my maidenhood's dainty fruit,

You are beguiled; and now your Juliet you beseeks

To cease your suit, and suffer her to live among her likes."

Then Romeus, whose thought was free from foul desire,

And to the top of virtue's height did worthily aspire,

Was filled with greater joy than can my pen express,

Or, till they have enjoyed the like, the hearer's heart can guess.

And then with joined hands, heaved up into the skies,

He thanks the Gods, and from the heavens for vengeance