_Servant._ Find them out whose names are written here! It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the 40 fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.
_Benvolio._ Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish. Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 50 And the rank poison of the old will die.
_Romeo._ Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that.
_Romeo._ Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--Good-den, good fellow.
_Servant._ God gi' good-den.--I pray, sir, can you read?
_Romeo._ Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60
_Servant._ Perhaps you have learned it without book; but, I pray, can you read any thing you see?
_Romeo._ Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
_Servant._ Ye say honestly; rest you merry!
[Reads] _'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair 70 niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena?'_ A fair assembly; whither should they come?
_Romeo._ Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.
_Servant._ Now I'll tell you without asking. My 80 master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! [_Exit._
_Benvolio._ At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st, With all the admired beauties of Verona. Go thither, and with unattainted eye Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
_Romeo._ When the devout religion of mine eye 90 Maintains such falsehood then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.