The moſt Lamentable Tragedie
Ser Vp.
Ro. Whither to ſupper.
Ser. To our houſe.
Ro. Whoſe houſe?
Ser. My Maiſters.
Ro. Indeede I ſhould haue askt you that before.
Ser. Now Ile tell you without a king. My Maiſter is the great rich Capulet, & if you be not of the houſe of Mountagues, I pray come and cruſh a cup of wine. Reſt you merry.
Ben. At this ſame auncient feaſt of Capulets,
Sups the fare Roſaline whom thou ſo loues:
With all the admired beauties of Verona,
Goe thither and with vnattainted eye,
Compare her face with ſome that I ſhall ſhew,
And I will make thee thinke thy ſwan a crow.
Ro. When the deuout religion of mine eye,
Maintaines ſuch ſalſhood, then turne teares to fire:
And theſe who often drownd, could neuer die,
Tranſparent Heretiques be burnt for liers.
One fairer then my loue? the all ſeeing Sun
Nere ſaw her match, ſince firſt the world begun.
Ben. Tut, you ſaw her faire none elſe byeing by,
Her ſelfe poyſde with her ſelfe in eyther eye:
But in that Chriſtall ſcales let there be waid,
Your Ladies loue againſt ſome other maid,
That I will ſhew you ſhiuing at this feaſt,
And ſhe ſhall ſhew well, that now ſhewes beſt.
Ro. Ile goe along no ſuch ſight to be ſhowne,
But to reioyce in ſplendor of mine owne.
Enter Capulets Wife and Nurſe.
Wife. Nurſe wher's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurſe, Now by my maidenhead, at twelve years old I had her,
come, what Lamb, what Lady-bird, God forbid,
Wheres this Girle? what Iuliet
Enter Iuliet
Iuliet. How now who calls?
Nur. Your mother.
