per.] 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.

[Exit.

Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
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 a crow.
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! th' all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world be-

SCENE III-A Room in CAPULET'S House. Enter Lady CAPULET and NURSE.

Lu. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,[bird!I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, ladyGod forbid!-where's this girl?—what, Juliet!

Enter JULIET.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here,
What is your will?

La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile, [again: We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back I have remember'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. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teens be it spoken, I have but four,

She is not fourteen: How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

*We still say in cant language-to crack a bottie. + Weighed. Scarce, hardly. To my sorrow

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be four

teen.

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,t

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;
Will 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.
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, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-ly.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,
say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee

to his grace!

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

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very

theme

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 lineament,

And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.t
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's 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 grow by men.

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.

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, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. But, let them measure us by what they will, Rom. Give me a torch,**-I am not for this ambling;

Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have yon 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, I cannot move.

Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax.

in the margin. + The comments on ancient books were always printed

him.

1. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind

1. c. Long speeches are out of fashion.

A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows. ↑ A dance.

** A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to cvery troop of maskers.

And soar with them above a common bound. Kom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

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; [down. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a Mask. A visor for a visor!-what care I, What curious eye doth quote* deformities? Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner But every man betake him to his legs. [in, Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,

Tickle the senseless rushest with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,—
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-
The game was ne'er so fair, and I 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 (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st

Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning; for our judgement sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. Rom. And we mean well,, in going to this But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. And so did I.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer. That dreamers often lie.

[mask;

Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things 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 as 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 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 of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream
of love:
[straight:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies

fees:

Q'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted

are.

Sometime 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 ear; at which he starts, and
wakes;
[two,
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks+ in foul sluggish 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, this is she-

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
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

SCENE V.-A Hall in CAPULET'S House. Musicians waiting. Enter SERVANTS. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps no 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 unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:-gooc thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, a thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susar. Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan! 2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.' [They retire behind.

cians, play.

A hall! a hall give room, and foot it, girls. [Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is 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 and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! '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.

bright!

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop'st ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows,
The measure done, I'll watch her place of
stand,
[hand.
And, touching hers, make happy my rude
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Mont-
ague:-
[slave
Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the
Come hither, cover'd with an antic 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.
1 Cup. Why, how now kinsman? wherefore
storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb. "Tis he, that villain Romeo.
1 Cap
Content thee, gentle coz, let him
He bears him like a portly gentleman; [alone,
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-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,
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.

[to;

What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall-G
1 Cap. He shall be endur'd:
You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my
Am I the master here, or you? go to. [soul-
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
You are saucy boy:-Is't so, indeed?—
1 Cap. Go to, go to,
This trick may chance to scath you;-I know

what.

go:

Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox ;+
You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
[shame!-
quiet, or-More light, more light, for
make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my
hearts.

Be
I'll
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler

meeting, [ing. Makes my flesh tremble in their different greet. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

[Exit. Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand

[To JULIET.

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands

do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palm

ers 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.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's ef Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. fect I take. [Kissing her.

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again.

[urg'd!

Jul. You kiss by the book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word
with you.

Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous:
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chinks.

dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be
gone;

We have a trifling foolish banquet* towards.-
Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:
More torches here!-Come on, then let's to
bed.
[late;
Ah, Sirrah, [To 2 CAp.] by my fay, it waxes
I'll to my rest.

[Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman?

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance?

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 MontaThe only son of your great enemy.

[gue; 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?
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal.

[One calls within, Juliet!

Nurse. Anon, anon:Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.

Enter CHORUS.

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, which love groan'd for, and would
die,

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, 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 To meet her new-beloved any where: [less But passion lends them power, time means to meet,

Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle [him Of some strange nature, letting it there staud 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.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the Now will he sit under a medlar tree, [mark. And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.

Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'us in vain

To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-CAPULET'S Gurden.

Enter ROMEO.

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!-
[that?
She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not

night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

*Alluding to the old ballad of the K and the Beppar. This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness. Humyl moist

A votary to the moon, to Diana.