The Woes of Unrequited Love
Benvolio. Madam, an hour before the worship'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drive me to walk abroad,
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Toward him I made, but he was ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I ,measuring his affections by my own,
Which them most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursued my humor not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Montague. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs,
But all too soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest cast begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night
Black and portendous must this humor prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.