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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I 'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Ty. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.-
Fetch me my rapier, boy.-What! dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honor of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore

storm you so ?
Ty. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

1 Cap. Young Romeo is 't ?
Ty.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz; let him alone : He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. I would not, for the wealth of all this town, Here, in my house, do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him; It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Ty. It fits, when such a villain is a guest : I 'U not endure him,

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