Why does the drum come hither?
Enter I-'ortinbras, t/te English Ambassadors, and

others. Fort. Where is this sight?

Hor. What is it ye would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death, What^ feast is toward in thine eternal cell. That thou so many princes at a shot So bloodily hast struck?

1 Amb. The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,
To te!! him his commandment is fuItiU'd,
That Rosencrantz and Guiklenstern are dead:
Where should we have our thanks?

{■for. Not from his mouth,

Had it the ability of life to thank you:
He never gave commandment for their death.
But since, so jump upon this bloody question,
You from the Polack wars, and you from England,
Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view;
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world,
How these things came about: so shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts;
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;

Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause j

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
Fali'n on the inventors' deads: all this can I
Truly deliver.

Fort. Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune:
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom;
Which, now to claim, my vantage doth invite me.

Hot: Of that I shall have also cause to speak.
Ami from his mouth whose voire will draw on more:
But let this same be presently perfonn'd.
Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mis-
chance

On plots and errors happen.

Fort l et four captains

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have prov'd most royally : and, for his p
The soldiers' music, ind the rites of war,
Speak loudly for him.
Tate up the bodies: such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

[A dead march. Exeunt, bearing away the
dead bodies: after -which, a peal of ord-
nance is shot offi

Escalus, Prince of Verona.

Paris, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince.

Montague, \ Heads of two Houses at variance with

Capulet, J each other.

An Old Man, Kinsman to Capulet

Rumen, Son to Montague.

Mercutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to
Romeo.

Benvojlo. Nephew to Montague, and Friend to Romeo.
Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
Friar Laurence, a Franciscan.
Friar fohn, of the same Order.
Balthasar, Servant to Romeo.

Gjss£ } Capulet.

Peter, another Servant to Capulet.
Abrain, Servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.

Chorus. Page to Mercutio; Page to Paris; an Officer,

Lady Montague, IVtfe to Montague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.

inliet. Daughter to Capulet.
[urse A? Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; male and female Relations to both Houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.

PROLOGUE.

Chorus.

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny.

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose inisadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-inark'd love,

And the'continuance of their parents' rage.
Which, but their children's end. nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend.
What here shall uiiss, our toil shall strive to mead.

ACT I.

SCENE L Verona.—,4 public Place.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

Ore. No. for then we should be colliers.

Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

Grc. Ay. while you live, draw your neck out of the

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. [collar.

lire. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

(ire. To move is to stir; and to lie valiant is stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou nin'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand; I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

tire That shows thee a weak slave: for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:—therefore, 1 will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his inaids to the wall.

tin: The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men. I will be cruel with the maids, I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.

Ore. They must take it in sense, that feel It. Siim. Me they shall feel, white I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back Ore. How! turn thy back, and run I [thee Sam. Fear me not. Gre. No, marry: I fear thee 1

Sam. Let us take the law of our side; let them

i,re. I will frown as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them j which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter Abram and Balthasar.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sirt

Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir t

Sam. [Aside to Gre.J Is the law of our side, if 1

Gre. [Aside to Sam.] No. [say ay?

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? »

Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Gre. [Aside to Sam.] Say, of my master's kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. Sam Draw, if you be men Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [ They fight.

Enter Benvolio. Ben, Part fools I put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats dcivn the.tr swords.

Enter Tybalt. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with ine.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace I I hate the As 1 hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: [word, Have at thee, coward! [ They fight.

Enter several persons of both Houses, -who join the /ray , then enter Citizens, with t tubs and partisans. Citizens. Clubs, bills, and partisans] strike I beat them down t

Down with the Capulets I down with the Montagues 1

Enter Capulet, tn his gown: and Lady Capulet.

Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho I [sword?

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch 1 Why call you for a

Cap. My sword, I say 1 Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of inc.

Enter Montague and Lady Montague.

Men. Thou villain Capulet I—Hold me not, let me
go. [foe.

La. Jlfbn. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a
Enter Prince, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—
Will they not hear? what hu! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd 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,
Caine more and more, and fought on part and part.
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La Mon. O, where is Romeo ? saw you him toRight glad I am he was not at this fray. Tday?—

Ben. 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 w alking 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,

Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his. 'nd gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Matt. 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 I
But aJfso. soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east 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 portentous must this humour prove.
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause I
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have yon importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by nivself, 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,
Asi 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 gTOW,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.
Ben. See, where he comes; so please you, step
aside;

{1 know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift.—Come, madam, let's away.

[Exeunt Montague and Lady. Enter Romeo. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Is the day so young?

Bert. But new struck nine.

Rom. Ah me I sad hours seein long,

'as that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?

Rom. Not having that, which having, i
Ben. In love?
Rom. Out*—
Ben. Of love?

Ron*. Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will I Where shall we dine? (> me I What fray was heret Yet tell me not, for I lia\ e heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love ■ W'hy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate 1 O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity 1 Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms I Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is I This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?

Ben. - No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what f

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.— Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fumes of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex d, a sea nourished with lovers' tears; What is it else? a madness most discreet, A ciioking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. {Going.

Ben. Soft! I will go along:

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

Rom. Tut, i have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Bert. Tell ine in sadness, who is that yon love.

Rom. What, shall i groan, and tell thee?

Ben. Groan! why, no;

But sadly tell me who.

Row, Bid a sick man in sadness make his will;
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so fll I
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. 1 aim'd so near, when 1 suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom. Aright good mark-man! And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss ; she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Mian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Ben, Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge For beauty, starv'd with her seventy, [waste; Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow Do I live dead, that live lo tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.

Rom. O, teach me how i should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

Rom, 'Tis the way

To call hers exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fajr ladies'brows.
Being black, put us in mind they bide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight ]< >.st:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair i
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—A Street.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity "tis you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:

My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My wiH to her consent is but a part: An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes iny number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel. When well-apparel'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all. all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Such, amongst view of many, mine being one. May stand in number, though in reckoning none. Come, go with me. [ To the Serv.J Go, sirrah, trudge Through fair Verona; find those persons out, [about Whose names arc written there, {Giving a paper.]

and to them say. My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[ Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned;—in good time.

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man, onefireburnsoutanother'sburning;

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, ami be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.

Ben. For what, I pray theet

Rom. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou inad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp d, and tormented, and—Good-den, good fellow.

Se>v. God gi' good den.—I pra)-, sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.

Sen: Ye say honestly; rest you merry 1 Urofug.

Rom. Stay, fellow; 1 can road. \ Reads.

"Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ■ the lady widow of VitruTio ; Sigutor Placentto, and his lovely nieces; Mercntio, and his brother Valentine; 'nine uncle, Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece, Rosaline; f.zria ; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt, Lucid, and i he. lively Helena* A fair assembly: [Civet back the paper.] whither should they come?

Sen: Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Sem. My master's.

Rom. Indeed. I should have asked you that before.

Sen: Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of vine. Rest you merry! [Exit.

Ben At this same ancient feast of Capulet's,
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither ; and, with uuattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When ihtr devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tear:, to fires;

And these,—who, often drown'd. could never die,—

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars I
One fairer than my love '. the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in that crystal stales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid.
That I will show you .shining at this fuast.
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But ts rejoice in splendour not mine own. \tixeunt.

SCENE III.—. / Room in Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead,—at twelve year old,—

I bade her come.—What, lamb! what, lady-bird 1 God forbid !—where s this girl ?—what, Juliet 1 /:«/«■" Juliet.

Jul. How now I who calls 1

Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here

"What is your will? [awhile.

La. Cap. This is the matter,—Nurse, give leave We must talk in secret:—Nurse, come back again; I have remeinber'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. 'Faith. I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. La/. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. 111 lay fourteen of my teeth,—

And yet to my teen be it spoken I have but four,—
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight, ami odd clays.

Nurse. Even or odd, ofall days in the year.
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she,—God rest all Christian souls 1—
Were of an age: well, Susan is with (lod;
She was too good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,—1 never shall forget it,—
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug.
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua :—
Nay. I do bear a brain :—but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug I
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone: nay. by the rood.
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before she broke her brow:
And then my husband,—God be with his soul I
'A was a merry man,—took up the child:
"Yea" quoth he, "dost thou fall upon thy /ace?
Thou wilt/ail backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jute f and. by my holy-dame,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—"Ay:"
To see. now, how a jest shall conn; about I
1 warrant, an 1 should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: "■Wilt thou not, Ju U T
quoth he;

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—" Ay."
La. Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy
peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say—'* Ay And yet, 1 warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: "JV<r," quoth my husband, *%fait St upon thy face? Thou tautfall backward, -when thou rom'st 'to aet; Wilt than not, Juie ?" it stinted, and said " Ay"

Jul. And stmt thou ton, 1 pray thee, nurse, say T.

Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:
An I might live to see thee married once.
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that "marry " is the very theme I came to talk of: tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married"

'Jul. It is an honour that 1 dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou had sucked wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you.

Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother, much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief:—
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady I lady, such a man,
As all the world-Why. "lie's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith, a very flower.

La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast;

Read o'er trie volume of young Paris' face.

And Unci delight writ there with beauty's pen;

Examine every married lineament,

And see how one an other lends content;

And what obscured m this fair volume lies.

Find written in the margin of his eyes.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,

To beautify him, only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the sea; and "tis much pride,

For fair without the fair within to hide.

That book in many eyes doth share the glory,

That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;

So shall you share all that he doth possess.

By having him, making yourself no less.

Nurse. No less? nay. bigger; women gTow by men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris love?

Jul. I'll look to like, ii looking liking move:
But no more deep will 1 endart mine eye,
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.

Set-v. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, yon called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, anueverything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

| Exeunt

SCENE IV.—A Street.

Enter Romeo, Merctitio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-Hearers, and others.

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our Or shall we on without apology? [excuse,

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar s painted bow of lath.
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor iio without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
Hut. let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and begone.

Rom. Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being hut heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Komeo, we must have you dance,

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I'have a soul of lead. So stakes me to the ground. 1 cannot move.

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore empierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's burden do I sink.

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love j
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough. Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love i Prick love for pricking, and you l>eat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor I—what care I, What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the bectle-broivs shall blush forme.

Ben. Come, knock and enter: ami so sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;

For I am proverb'd with a grandstre phrase;
111 be a candle-holder, ana look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and 1 am done.
Mer. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own
word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this sir-reverence, love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay

"We waste our lights in tain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask t

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer. And so did I.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer. That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream tilings true.

Mer. O then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife , and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman.
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses a.s they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut.
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers* brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court"sies
straight;

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues.
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail.
Tickling a parson's nose as "a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck.
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades.
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his car, at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night.
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs.
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag. when maids lie on their backs.
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she—

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace 1

Thou talk st of nothing.

Mer. True. I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain.
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north.
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Ren. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels ; and expire the term
Of a despised life, closed in my breast.
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail I—On, lusty gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum \Exeunt.

SCENE V.—A Hall in Capulet's House. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants, i Serv. Where's Potpau, that he helps not totake away? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher 1

2. Serv. When good maimers shall lie all in one or two men s hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

i Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane ; and, as thoulovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell Antony ! and Potpan 1

3 & 4 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for in the great chamber.

3 & 4 Set v. We cannot be here and there too.

2 Serv. Cheerily, boys: be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. | They re/ire behind. Enter Capulet, Sec, with the Guests and the Musters.

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen 1 ladies that have theur toes

Unplagued with corns, win have a bout with you,
Ah ha, my mistresses 1 which ol you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,
111 swear, hath corns; am I come near you now?
Welcome, gentlemen I I have seen the day.
That I have worn a vizor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair ladyVear,
Such as would please; tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone,
You are welcome, gentlemen 1 Come, musicians,
ptay.

A hall, a hall I give room! and foot it, girls.

[Musicfilays, and l/iey dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up. And quench the lire, the room has grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet: For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now, since last yourself snd I Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

Cap. What, man I 'tis not so much, tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will. Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir. His son is thirty.

Cap. Will you tell me that J

His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewefin an -4ithk>p s ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear I So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lady o er her fellows shows. The measure done. 111 watch her place of stand. And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand Did my heartlove till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice should be a Montague. F"etch ine my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antlck face. To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin. To strike him dead I hold it not a sin, [you so?

Cap. Why. how now, kinsman 1 wherefore storm

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villainthat is hither come in spite.
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Cap. Young Romeo, is it?

Tyb. Tis he. that villain, RomtO.

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 welt-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,
Sliow a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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