Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

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 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. [here? Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick

health!

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick manin sadness make his will:Ah, 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 marksman!-And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
R. 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,
Fromlove's weak childishbow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes:
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 severity, (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 to 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 fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: 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? 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. And 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 reckoning1 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.

P. Younger than she are happy mothers made. C. 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 mynumber 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-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female birds shall you this night
Inherit 2 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 uone.
Come, go with me:-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [Gives 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. 2 Enjoy.

Enter Benvolio and Romco. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holy by backward turning: One desperate grief cure with another's lanTake thou some new infection to thy eye, [guish: And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.

For your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? [is: R. Not mad, but bound more than a madman Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good e'en, good fellow.

Serv. Gi' good e'en, good e'en. -I pray, 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? R. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly: Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.

[Reads.

Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; 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.

A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither

should they come?

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

R. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. Serv. 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 wine. 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 admir'd 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 hereticks, be burnt for liars!
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 those 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 scant1 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. [Excunt.

SCENE III. -A ROOM IN CAPULET'S HOUSE.

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

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

Nurse. I bade her come. - What, lamb? what, lady-bird!

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? [awhile, L. Cap. This is the matter:----Nurse, give leave We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back [counsel. I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse. Yes, I can tell her age unto an hour. La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

again;

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, [four, And yet, to my teen1 be it spoken, I have but She is not fourteen: How long is it now To Lammas-tide?

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 fourteen. Susan and she were of an age, -but Susan's dead; 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 in the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my teat, 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 And felt it bitter, O the pretty fool! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the teat. Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I To bid me trudge.

[trow,

And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, 3
She could have run and waddled all about,
For even the day before, she broke her brow.
I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.

La. Cup. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold
thy peace.

J. And hold thy peace, I pray thee nurse, say ĩ. Nurse. Peace, I have done. Heaven mark

thee to its 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 I came to talk of:-Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. N. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. L. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you,

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breath with sweat-meats tainted
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, [are.
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit1:
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;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayerortwo,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plaits the manes of horses in the night:
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
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 wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Ben. 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, clos'd in my breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death: But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail!-On, gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A HALL IN CAPULET'S HOUSE. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 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 unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:-good thou, save me a piece of march-pane2; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan 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.Cheerily, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind. Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and the Maskers.

Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with

Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all [she
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the
That I have worn a visor; and could tell (day,
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please; -'tis gone, 'tis gone; 'tis
gone:
[play,
You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians,
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.
[Musick 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 weil.
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?

Serv. I know not, sir.

[hand

R. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's 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 measurel done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
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 Montague:-
Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antick 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 Cap. 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 alone,
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
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,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him. 1 Cap.

He shall be endur'd;

Am I the master here or you? go to.

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set a cock-a-hoop1! you'll be the man!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
1 Сар.

Go to, go to, You are a saucy boy:-Is't so indeed?This trick may chance to scathe2 you;-I know

what.

You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
Wellsaid, my hearts:-you are a princox3; go:-
Be quiet, or-More light, more light, shame!
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
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,

too?

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 palmers [prayer. Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in R. Othen, 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 effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. J. Then havemylips 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
Rom. What is her mother? [with you.
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.

Rom.

Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 C. 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.
Ah, sirrah [To 2 C.] by my fay, 5 it waxes late:
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.
J. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman?
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
J. What's he, that now is going out of door?

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 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? 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; Thatfair, 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 less To meet her new-beloved any where: [meet, But passion lends them power, time means to Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.

Act Second.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-AN OPEN PLACE, ADJOINING CAPULET'S GARDEN.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mer.

He is wise:

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leaped this orchard
Call, good Mercutio.
[wall.
Mer.
Nay, I'll conjure too--
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! Couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
Wher King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.---
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The apel is dead, and I must conjure him.--
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.