The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
	Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
	And private in his chamber pens himself,
	Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
	And makes himself an artificial night:
	Black and portentous must this humour prove,
	Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

BENVOLIO	My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

MONTAGUE	I neither know it nor can learn of him.

BENVOLIO	Have you importuned him by any means?

MONTAGUE	Both by myself and many other friends:
	But he, his own affections' counsellor,
	Is to himself--I will not say how true--
	But to himself so secret and so close,
	So far from sounding and discovery,
	As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
	Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
	Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
	Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
	We would as willingly give cure as know.

	[Enter ROMEO]

BENVOLIO	See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
	I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

MONTAGUE	I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
	To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

	[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]

BENVOLIO	Good-morrow, cousin.

ROMEO	Is the day so young?

BENVOLIO	But new struck nine.

ROMEO	Ay me! sad hours seem long.
	Was that my father that went hence so fast?

BENVOLIO	It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

ROMEO	Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

BENVOLIO	In love?

ROMEO	Out--

BENVOLIO	Of love?

ROMEO	Out of her favour, where I am in love.

BENVOLIO	Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
	Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

ROMEO	Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
	Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
	Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
	Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
	Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
	Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
	O any thing, of nothing first create!
	O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
	Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
	Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
	sick health!
	Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
	This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
	Dost thou not laugh?

BENVOLIO	No, coz, I rather weep.

ROMEO	Good heart, at what?

BENVOLIO	At thy good heart's oppression.

ROMEO	Why, such is love's transgression.
	Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
	Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
	With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
	Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
	Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
	Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
	Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
	What is it else? a madness most discreet,
	A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
	Farewell, my coz.

BENVOLIO	                  Soft! I will go along;
	An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

ROMEO	Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
	This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

BENVOLIO	Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.