_Romeo._ She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty starv'd with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair; She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow 220 Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
_Benvolio._ Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
_Romeo._ O, teach me how I should forget to think.
_Benvolio._ By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.
_Romeo._ 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair. He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. 230 Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
_Benvolio._ I'll pay that doctrine or else die in debt. [_Exeunt._
_Capulet._ But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.
_Paris._ Of honourable reckoning are you both, And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
_Capulet._ But saying o'er what I have said before. My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years. Let two more summers wither in their pride 10 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
_Paris._ Younger than she are happy mothers made.
_Capulet._ 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 choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 20 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 night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light. Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see, 30 And like her most whose merit most shall be; Which on more view of many, mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none. Come, go with me.--[_To Servant, giving a paper_] Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._