Datasets:
DioLiu
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Test3

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BENVOLIO:
Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
LADY MONTAGUE:
O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
BENVOLIO:
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour 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 dew.
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
BENVOLIO:
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MONTAGUE:
I neither know it nor can learn of him.
BENVOLIO:
Have you importuned him by any means?
MONTAGUE:
Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself--I will not say how true--
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
We would as willingly give cure as know.
BENVOLIO:
See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
MONTAGUE:
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
BENVOLIO:
Good-morrow, cousin.
ROMEO:
Is the day so young?
BENVOLIO:
But new struck nine.
ROMEO:
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
BENVOLIO:
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
ROMEO:
Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
BENVOLIO:
In love?
ROMEO:
Out--
BENVOLIO:
Of love?