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I CIT. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and LADY CAPULET. CAP. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho!
LA. CAP. A crutch, a crutch !-why call you for a sword?
CAP. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. MON. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.
LA. MON. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter PRINCE with Attendants.
PRIN. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,Will they not hear?-what ho! 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.Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets; And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming orna
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
LA. MON. O, where is Romeo!-saw you him today?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.
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 this 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 are most alone,Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
MON. 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 so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest 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 :
Enter ROMEO, at a distance.
BEN. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Is the day so young?
MON. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. BEN. Good morrow, cousin. ROM. BEN. But new struck nine. ROM. Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BEN. It was.-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
ROM. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
BEN. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. ROM. A right 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 Dian'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
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too
To merit bliss by making me despair :
ROM. 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! Where shall we dine?-O me !-What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to-do with hate, but more with love :Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first created;
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
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
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
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. The 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 will 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 my number more.
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.
BEN. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and 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 plantain leaf is excellent for that.
For your broken shin.
BEN. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
ROM. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: Shut
up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and-God den, good fellow. SERV. God ye good den.-I pray, sir, can you read?
ROм. 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.
SIGNIOR MARTINO, and his wife, and daughter; COUNTY ANSELME, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of VITRUVIO; SIGNIOR PLACENTIO, and his lovely nieces; MERCUTIO, and his brother VALENTINE; mine uncle CAPULET, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece ROSALINE; LIVIA; SIGNIOR VALENTIO, and his cousin TYBALT; LUCIO, and the lively HELENA.
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan
ROM. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires!
And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the allseeing 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
But in that crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
ROM. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
JUL. What is your will?
LA. CAP. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again;
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
A fortnight, and odd days.. NURSE. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!--were of an age:-Well, Susan is with God; 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,-I 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. 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! 'a was a merry man;-took up the child; Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and said-Ay: to see now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it; wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: and, pretty fool, it stinted, and said-Ay.
To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
LA. CAP. Marry, that marry is the very theme
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
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 ;-
NURSE. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
As all the world-why, he'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 the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married linea
LA. CAP. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JUL. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
SERV. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything 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.
ROM. I dreamt a dream to-night.
ROM. Well, what was yours?
And so did I.
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
MER. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
ROM. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
MER. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.
ROM. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. MER. If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Give me a case to put my visage in.
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in ;
[Putting on a mask.
A visor for a visor! what care I,
If thou art dun, we 'll draw thee from the mire,
Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six other Maskers, and Torch-bearers.
Or shall we on without apology?
BEN. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Why, may one ask?
That dreamers often lie. ROM. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true. MER. O then, I see queen Mab hath been with you. 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 as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces, of the smallest spider's web; Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry 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 o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On 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 sweet-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting
breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; 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
Making them women of good carriage.
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
ROM. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives,
SCENEV.-A Hall in Capulet's House. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.
I SERV. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
2 SERV. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd 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 thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!
2 SERV. Ay, boy; ready.
I SERV. You are look'd for, and call'd for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 SERV. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind.
Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests, and the Maskers.
I CAP. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their toes Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
You are welcome, gentlemen!--Come, musicians, play.
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.
[Music plays, and they dance. More light, you knaves, and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown
His son was but a ward
two years ago.
ROM. What lady's 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
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Now, by the stock and honour of my
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. I CAP. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so?
TYB. Uncle, this is a Montague, our
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him dispatage
lips, and holy palmers too?
JUL. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROM. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JUL. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night :-
[Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse. JUL. Come hither, nurse: what is yon gentleman?
NURSE. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
NURSE. I know not.
JUL. Go, ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. NURSE. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.
JUL. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. NURSE. What 's this? what's this?
[One calls within, JULIET. Anon, anon:
Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less, To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.
The apeis dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
BEN. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.
| But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!! And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
ROM. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall.
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
O, that she knew she were !
She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
To be consorted with the humorous night:
MER. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
An open et cætera, thou, a poprin pear!
Go, then, for 'tis in vain
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
She speaks:O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air.
JUL. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
JUL. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Mon
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
By a name
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
ROM. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
ROM. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
JUL. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROM. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
JUL. I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROM. I have night's cloak to hide me from their
And, but thou love me, let them find me here:
JUL. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
ROM. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot, yet, wert thou as far