Romeo and Juliet / Ромео и Джульетта

Benvolio

Tell me in sadness who is that you love?

Romeo

What, shall I groan and tell thee?

Benvolio

Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.

Romeo

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,

A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.

In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Benvolio

I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.

Romeo

A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.

Benvolio

A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Romeo

Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit

With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;

And in emphasis proof of chastity well arm’d,

From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.

She will not stay the siege of loving terms

Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,

Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:

O she’s rich in beauty, only poor

That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Benvolio

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

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

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, puts us in mind they hide the fair;

He that is strucken blind cannot forget

The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

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.]

Scene II

A Street. Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.

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.