_Cap._ And too soon marr'd are those so early made.[131] The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,[132] She is the hopeful lady of my earth:[133] 15 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[134] Lies my consent and fair according voice.[135] 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.[136] At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:[137] 25 Such comfort as do lusty young men feel[138] When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night[139] 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[140] May stand in number, though in reckoning none.[141] Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out 35 Whose names are written there and to them say,[142] My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.[143] [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._ _Serv._ Find them out whose names are written here![144] It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his[144] yard and the tailer with his last, the fisher with his pencil 40 and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find[145] what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to[146] the learned. In good time.[146] _Enter_ BENVOLIO _and_ ROMEO. _Ben._ Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,[147] 45 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;[148] Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;[149] One desperate grief cures with another's languish:[150] Take thou some new infection to thy eye,[151] And the rank poison of the old will die. 50 _Rom._ Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that. _Ben._ For what, I pray thee? _Rom._ For your broken shin. _Ben._ Why, Romeo, art thou mad? _Rom._ Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 55 Whipt and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.[152] _Serv._ God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?[153] _Rom._ Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. _Serv._ Perhaps you have learned it without book: but,[154][155] I pray, can you read any thing you see?[154] 60 _Rom._ Ay, if I know the letters and the language.