Two households, both alike in dignity,In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.From forth the fatal loins of these two foesA pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;Whole misadventured piteous overthrowsDo with their death bury their parents' strife.The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,And the continuance of their parents' rage,Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;The which if you with patient ears attend,What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore,––in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange;'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her.
What say you, can you love the gentleman?This night you shall behold him at our feast.Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;Examine every married lineament,And see how one another lends content;And what obscured in this fair volume liesFind written in the margent of his eyes.This precious book of love, this unbound lover,To beautify him only lacks a cover.The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much prideFor fair without the fair within to hide.That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,That in gold clasps locks in the golden story.So shall you share all that he doth possess,By having him, making yourself no less.
Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,And young affection gapes to be his heir;That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,But to his foe supposed he must complain,And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:Being held a foe, he may not have accessTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;And she as much in love, her means much lessTo meet her new-beloved any where:But passion lends them power, time means, to meetTempering extremities with extreme sweet.
And too soon marr'd are those so early made.The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,She is the hopeful lady of my earth:But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,My will to her consent is but a part;An she agree, within her scope of choiceLies my consent and fair according voice.This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,Whereto I have invited many a guest,Such as I love; and you, among the store,One more, most welcome, makes my number more.At my poor house look to behold this nightEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:Such comfort as do lusty young men feelWhen well-apparell'd April on the heelOf limping winter treads, even such delightAmong fresh female buds shall you this nightInherit at my house; hear all, all see,And like her most whose merit most shall be:Which on more view, of many mine being oneMay stand in number, though in reckoning none,Come, go with me.