Ro: Out of her fauor where I am in loue.
Ben: Alas that loue so gentle in her view,
Should be so tyrranous and rough in proofe.
Ro: Alas that loue whose view is muffled still, 95
Should without lawes giue path-waies to our will:
Where shall we dine? Gods me, what fray was here?
Yet tell me not for I haue heard it all,
Heres much to doe with hate, but more with loue.
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, 100
O anie thing, of nothing first create!
O heauie lightnes serious vanitie!
Mishapen Caos of best seeming thinges,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sicke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: 105
This loue feele I, which feele no loue in this.
Doest thou not laugh?
Rom: Good hart at what?
Ben: At thy good hearts oppression. 110
Ro: Why such is loues transgression,
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie at my hart,
Which thou wouldst propagate to haue them prest
With more of thine, this griefe that thou hast showne,
Doth ad more griefe to too much of mine owne: 115
Loue is a smoke raisde with the fume of sighes
Being purgde, a fire sparkling in louers eyes:
Being vext, a sea raging with a louers teares.
What is it else? A madnes most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet. Farewell Cose. 120
Ben: Nay Ile goe along.
And if you hinder me you doo me wrong.
Ro: Tut I haue lost my selfe I am not here,
This is not Romeo, hee's some other where.
Ben: Tell me in sadnes whome she is you loue? 125