Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.
Exeunt.
Ben. Good morrow Cousin
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new strooke nine
Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long:
Was that my Father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres?
Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short
Ben. In loue
Romeo. Out
Ben. Of loue
Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue
Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe
Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will:
Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere?
Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all:
Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue:
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate,
O any thing, of nothing first created:
O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,
Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes,
Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is:
This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this.
Doest thou not laugh?
Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe