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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,
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my halidom,
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?'
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'
Lady 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 cockerel's stone; A perilous 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 'Ay.' 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.
Lady Cap. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I come to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou had suck'd wisdom from thy
Lady Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,
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,
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world-why, he's a man of wax. Lady Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
Lady Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast; 80
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every several lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent 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'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
Lady 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 called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
Lady Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt. 106
SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and Others. Rom. What! shall this speech be spoke for
Or shall we on without apology?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'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: But let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. 19 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 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 I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings.
And soar with them above a common bound.
Rom. 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 boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with
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
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of
Tickle the senseless rushes 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
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire,
Or-save your reverence-love, wherein thou
Come, we burn daylight, ho!
Up to the ears.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, 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.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.
And so did I. 50
That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream
Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer. O then I see Queen Mab hath been
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the forefinger 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 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 o' mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night 70
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies
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
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 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 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, 90
Which once entangled 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-
Peace, peace! Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.
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,
Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from our-
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, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.
A Hall in CAPULET'S
Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen.
First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
Second Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
First 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 GrindAntony! and Potpan! stone and Nell.
Second Serv. Ay, boy; ready.
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,
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
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 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?
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
Rom. O she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she 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, 50
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.
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.
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.
Cap. Young Romeo is 't?
'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
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 the 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.
He shall be endur'd:
What goodman boy; I say he shall, go to ;
Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
I'll make you quiet. What! cheerly, my hearts! Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Ezit.
Rom. To JULIET. If I profane with my un-
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this;
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender
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 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.
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. Kissing her.
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
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
Ah! sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.
Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse.
Mer. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rime and I am satisfied;
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is 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
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 20
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
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.
She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night.
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand:
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
O! that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek.
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;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom. Aside. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak
Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea.
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries, %
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo!
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be
50 I should have been more strange, I must confess,
Jul. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsel ?
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee:
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound :
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-
Jul. O swear not by the moon, the inconstant
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 119
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?
Do not swear at all:
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Rom. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dis- Which is the god of my idolatry,