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a very tall Man---a very good Whore. ----Why is not this a lamentable thing, Grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with thefe ftrange Flies, thefe Fashion-mongers, these pardon-me's, who ftand fo much on the new Form, that they cannot fit at ease on the old Bench. O their Bones, their Bones.

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his Roe, like a dried Herring. O Flesh, Flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the Numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady was a Kitchenwench; marry fhe had a better love to berime her: Dido a Dowdy, Cleopatra a Gipfie, Helen and Hero Hildings and Harlots: Thisby a gray Eye or fo, but not to the Purpose. Signior Romeo, Bonjour, there's a French Salutation to your French flop; you gave us the Counterfeit fairly laft Night. Rom. Good morrow to you both, what Counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? Rom. Pardon Mercutio, my Bufinefs was great, and in fuch a Cafe as mine, a Man may ftrain Curtfie.

Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours conftrains a Man to bow in the Hams.

Rom. Meaning to Curtfie.

Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it.

Rom. A moft courteous Expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very Pink of Courtefie.
Rom. Pink for Flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why then is my Pump well flower'd.

Mer. Sure Wit-follow me this Jeft, now, till thou haft worn out thy Pump, that when the fingle fole of it is worn, the Jeft may remain after the wearing, fole-fingu lar.

Rom. O fingle-fol'd Jeft.

Solely fingular, for the fingleness.

Mer. Come between us good Benvolio, my Wit faints. Rom. Swits and Spurs,

Swits and Spurs, or I'll cry a Match.

Mer. Nay, if our Wits run the Wild-goofe Chafe, I am done: For thou haft more of the Wild-goofe in one of

thy

thy Wits, than I am fure I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the Goofe?

Rom. Thou waft never with me for any thing, when thou waft not there for the Gooft?

Mer. I will bite thee by the Ear for that Jeft.

Rom. Nay, good Goofe bite not.

Mer. Thy Wit is a very bitter Sweeting,

It is a moft sharp Sawce.

Rom. And is it not well-ferv'd in to a fweet Goofe? Mer. O here's a Wit of Cheverel, that ftretches from an Inch narrow, to an Ell broad.

Rom. I ftretch it out for that word broad, which added to the Goose, proves thee far and wide, a broad Goose.

Mer. Why is not this better, than groaning for Love? Now thou art fociable; now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by Art, as well as by Nature; for this driveling Love is like a great Natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his Bauble in a Hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

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Mer. Thou defireft me to ftop in my Tale against the Hair: Ben. Thou wouldft elfe have made thy Tale large.

Mer. O thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my Tale, and meant indeed to occupy the Argument no longer.

Enter Nurfe and her Man.

Rom. Here's goodly gear:

A fayle, a fayle.

Mer. Two, two, a Shirt and a Smock.

Nur. Peter.

Pet. Anon.

Nur. My Fan, Peter.

Mer. Good Peter, to hide her Face;

For her Fan's the fairer Face.

Nur. God ye good morrow, Gentlemen.

Mer. God ye good-den fair Gentlewoman,

Nur. Is it good-den?

Mer. 'Tis no lefs, I tell you; for the bawdy Hand of the

Dyal is now upon the prick of Noon.

Nur. Out upon you; what a Man are you?

Rom. One, Gentlewoman,

That God hath made, himself to mar.

VOL. V.

D

Nur.

Nar. By my troth it is fad: for himself to mar, quotha? .Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you: But young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you fought him: I am the youngest of that Name, for fault of a worse. Nur. You fay well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well?

Very well took, I'faith, wifely, wisely.
Nur. If you be he, Sir,

I defire fome Confidence with you.

Ben. She will invite him to fame Supper.
Mer. A Baud, a Baud, a Baud. So ho.

Rom. What haft thou found?

Mer. No Hare, Sir, unless a Hare Sir, in a Lenten Pye; that is fomething Stale and Hoar e'er it be spent.

An old Hare hoar, and an old Hare hoar, is very good Meat

in Lent.

But a Hare that is hoar, is too much for a Score, when it hoars e'er it be spent.

Romeo, will you come to your Father's? We'll to Dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewel, ancient Lady: Farewel Lady, Lady, Lady.

[Ex. Mercutio, Benvolio. Nur. I pray you, Sir, what faucy Merchant was this that was fo full of his Roguery?

Rom. A Gentleman, Nurfe, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a Minute, than he will ftand to in a Month.

Nur. And a fpeak any thing againft me, I'll take him down, and a were luftier than he is, and twenty fuch Jacks: And if I cannot, I'll find thofe that fhall. Scurvy Knave, I am none of his Flirt-gils; I am none of his Skains-mates. And thou must ftand by too, and fuffer every Knave to use me at his pleasure. [To her Man.

Pet. I faw no Man ufe you at his Pleafure: If I had, my Weapon fhould quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as foon as another Man, if I fee occafion in a good Quarrel, and the Law on my fide.

Nur.

Nur. Now afore God, I am fo vext, that every part about me quivers Scurvy Knave! Pray you, Sir, a Word: And as I told you, my young Lady bid me enquire you out; what the bid me fay, I will keep to my felf: But first let me tell ye, if ye fhould lead her into Fool's Paradife, aș they fay, it were a very grofs kind of Behaviour, as they fay, for the Gentlewoman is young; and therefore if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any Gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Rom. Commend me to thy Lady and Miftrefs, I proteft unto thee

Nur. Good Heart, and I'faith I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful Woman.

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, Nurfe? Thou dost not mark me?

Nur. I will tell her, Sir, that you do proteft; which, as I take it, is a Gentleman-like offer.

Rom. Bid her devife fome means to come to Shrift, this afAnd there she shall at Friar Lawrence's Cell,

Be fhriv'd and married: Here is for thy pains.

Nur. No, truly Sir, not a Penny.

Rom. Go to, I fay you fhall.

(ternoon;

Nur. This Afternoon, Sir? Well, the shall be there.
Rom. And stay thou, good Nurse, behind the Abby-wall,
Within this Hour my Man fhall be with thee,
And bring thee Cords made like a tackled Stair,
Which to the high top-gallant of my Joy,
Must be my Convoy in the fecret Night.
Farewel, be trufty, and I'll quit thy Pains:
Farewel, commend me to thy Mistress.

Nur. Now God in Heav'n blefs thee: Hark you, Sir.
Rom. What fay'st thou, my dear Nurfe?

Nur. Is your Man fecret? Did you ne'er hear

Two may keep Counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee my Man's as true as Steel.

fay,

Nur. Well, Sir, my Miftress is the fweeteft Lady; Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing-O, there is a Noble Man in Town, one Paris, that would fain lay Knife aboard; but she, good Soul, had as live fee a Toad, a very Toad, as fee him: I anger her fometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer Man; but I'll warrant you, when I fay

D 2

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fo,

f, she looks as pale as any Clout in the verfal World. Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a Letter?

Rom. Ay Nurfe, what of that? Both with an R.

Nur. Ah mocker! that's the Dog's name. R. is for the no, I know it begins with no other Letter, and fhe hath the prettiest fententious of it, of you and Rolemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Kom. Commend me to thy Lady.-
Nur. A thoufand times.

Peter?

Exit Romeo.

Pet. Anon.

Nur. Before, and

арасе.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Capulet's House.

Enter Juliet.

Jul. The Clock ftruck Nine, when I did fend the Nurse: In half an Hour fhe promised to return.

Perchance the cannot meet him-That's not fo-
Oh he is Lame: Love's Heralds fhould be Thoughts,
Which ten times fafter glides than the Sun-beams,
Driving back Shadows over lowring Hills.
Therefore do nimble Pinion'd Doves draw Lové,
And therefore hath the Wind-swift Cupid Wings.
Now is the Sun upon the highmoft Hill

Of this day's journey, and from nine 'till twelve-
Ay three long Hours

-and

yet

fhe is not come;

Had the Affections and warm Youthful Blood,
She'd be as fwift in motion as a Ball,

My Words would bandy her to my fweet Love,
And his to me;

But old Folks, many feign as they were Dead,
Unweildy, flow, heavy and pale as Lead.

Enter Nurfe.

O God, he comes. O honey Nurfe, what News?
Haft thou met with him? Send thy Man away.

Nur. Peter, ftay at the Gate.

Jul. Now good fweet Nurfe

O Lord, why look'st thou fad?

Tho' News be fad, yet tell them merrily,

If good, thou fham'ft the Mufick of fweet News,
By playing it to me with fo fower a Face.

Nur.

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