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This letter closed he sends to Romeus by his brother;

He chargeth him that in no case he give it any other.

Apace our Friar John to Mantua him hies;

And, for because in Italy it is a wonted guise

That friars in the town should seldom walk alone,

But of their convent aye should be accompanied with one

Of his profession, straight a house he findeth out,

In mind to take some friar with him, to walk the town about.

But entered once he might not issue out again,

For that a brother of the house, a day before or twain,

Died of the plague -- a sickness which they greatly fear and hate --

So were the brethren charged to keep within their convent gate,

Barred of their fellowship that in the town do wone;

The townfolk eke commanded are the friar's house to shun

Till they that had the care of health their freedom should renew;

Whereof, as you shall shortly hear, a mischief great there grew.

The friar by this restraint, beset with dread and sorrow,

Not knowing what the letters held, deferred until the morrow;

And then he thought in time to send to Romeus.

But whilst at Mantua where he was, these doings framéd thus,

The town of Juliet's birth was wholly busiéd

About her obsequies, to see their darling buriéd.

Now is the parents' mirth quite changéd into moan,

And now to sorrow is returned the joy of every one;

And now the wedding weeds for mourning weeds they change,

And Hymene into a dirge; -- alas! it seemeth strange:

Instead of marriage gloves, now funeral gloves they have,

And whom they should see marriéd, they follow to the grave.

The feast that should have been of pleasure and of joy,

Hath every dish and cup filled full of sorrow and annoy.

Now throughout Italy this common use they have,

That all the best of every stock are earthéd in one grave:

For every household, if it be of any fame,

Doth build a tomb, or dig a vault, that bears the household's name;

Wherein, if any of that kindred hap to die,

They are bestowed; else in the same no other corpse may lie.

The Capulets her corpse in such a one did lay,

Where Tybalt, slain of Romeus, was laid the other day.

Another use there is, that whosoever dies,

Borne to their church with open face upon the bier he lies,

In wonted weed attired, not wrapped in winding sheet.

So, as by chance he walked abroad, our Romeus' man did meet

His master's wife; the sight with sorrow straight did wound

His honest heart; with tears he saw her lodgéd underground.

And, for he had been sent to Verone for a spy,

The doings of the Capulets by wisdom to descry,

And for he knew her death did touch his master most,

Alas, too soon, with heavy news he hied away in post;

And in his house he found his master Romeus,

Where he, besprent with many tears, began to speak him thus:

"Sire, unto you of late is chanced so great a harm,

That sure, except with constancy you seek yourself to arm,

I fear that straight you will breathe out your latter breath,

And I, most wretched wight, shall be th'occasion of your death.

Know, sir, that yesterday, my lady and your wife,

I wot not by what sudden grief, hath made exchange of life

And for because on earth she found nought but unrest,

In heaven hath she sought to find a place of quiet rest

And with these weeping eyes myself have seen her laid

Within the tomb of Capulets": and herewithal he stayed.

This sudden message' sound, sent forth with sighs and tears,

Our Romeus received too soon with open list'ning ears

And thereby hath sunk in such sorrow in his heart,

That lo, his sprite annoyéd sore with torment and with smart,

Was like to break out of his prison house perforce,

And that he might fly after hers, would leave the massy corse.

But earnest love that will not fail him till his end,

This fond and sudden fantasy into his head did send:

That if near unto her he offered up his breath,

That then a hundred thousand parts more glorious were his death.

Eke should his painful heart a great deal more be eased,

And more also, he vainly thought, his lady better