Philip Weller caricature
Philip and Weller hugging

Welcome to my web site, now under development for more than twenty years.   
-- Philip Weller, November 13, 1941 - February 1, 2021
Dr. Weller, an Eastern Washington University professor of English and Shakespearean scholar for more than 50 years.

Romeus and Juliet: Lines 309-340

  Even with his ended tale, the torches' dance had end,
And Juliet of force must part from her new chosen friend.
His hand she clasped hard, and all her parts did shake,
When leisureless with whisp'ring voice thus did she answer make:
"You are no more your own, dear friend, than I am yours,
My honour savéd, prest t'obey your will, while life endures."
Lo, here the lucky lot that seld true lovers find,
Each takes away the other's heart, and leaves the own behind.
A happy life is love, if God grant from above,
That heart with heart by even weight do make exchange of love.
But Romeus gone from her, his heart for care is cold;
He hath forgot to ask her name that hath his heart in hold.
With forgéd careless cheer, of one he seeks to know,
Both how she hight, and whence she came, that him enchanted so.
So hath he learned her name, and know'th she is no geast,
Her father was a Capulet, and master of the feast.
Thus hath his foe in choice to give him life or death,
That scarcely can his woeful breast keep in the lively breath.
Wherefore with piteous plaint fierce Fortune doth he blame,
That in his ruth and wretched plight doth seek her laughing game.
And he reproveth Love, chief cause of his unrest,
Who ease and freedom hath exiled out of his youthful breast.
Twice hath he made him serve, hopeless of his reward;
Of both the ills to choose the less, I ween the choice were hard.
First to a ruthless one he made him sue for grace,
And now with spur he forceth him to run an endless race.
Amid these stormy seas one anchor doth him hold,
He serveth not a cruel one, as he had done of old.
And therefore is content, and chooseth still to serve,
Though hap should swear that guerdonless the wretched wight should sterve.
The lot of Tantalus is, Romeus, like to thine;
For want of food amid his food, the miser still doth pine.