SCENE III.
A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where 's my daughter? call her
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve
year old,
I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!
God 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,
We must talk in secret.Nurse, come back again;
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.
,I
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
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:
15 An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,- [four, And yet, to my teen 'be it spoken, I have but She's not fourteen: How long is 't now to Lam-25 mas-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,-God rest all Christian souls!-30
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 bad then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting i' 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 worm-wood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it teachy, and fall out with the dug. [trow,
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, 145
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is cleven 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;
![[ocr errors]](https://books.google.ru/books/content?id=cMgjAAAAMAAJ&hl=ru&output=html_text&pg=PA971&img=1&zoom=3&q=fall&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U2jsRsFNT3f_BJIwQRqyWWukpnenw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=199,1217,7,9)
Yea,' quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backw, when thou hast niore
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 stinted2, and said—' Ay.'
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.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. 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.
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 gen
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 several lineament,
40 And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volunie lies,
Find written in the margin 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,
50 By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by.
[love?
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris'
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 Sercant.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the 60 nurse curs'd in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
2 i. e. it stopped, it forbore from weeping. ancient books were always printed in the margin.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six
Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.
Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our
excuse?
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-keeper2;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our enterance:
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure,
and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch 3,I am not for this
ambling;
[['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:
5 If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire,
Or (saveyourreverence) 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
10 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 mask;
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 lye.
Rom. In bed asleep; while they do dream things
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. [dance.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you 25
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 enpearced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burthen 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 40
love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in;
[Pulling 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.
Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agat stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies 10
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grashoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watry 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
35 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
[straight:
On 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;
45 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breathis with sweet-meatstainted arc.
Sometimes 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,
Rom. A torch for me; let wantons, light of 30
heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ';
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,—
It was a custom observed by those who came uninvited to a masquerade, with a desire to conceal themselves for the sake of intrigue, or to enjoy the greater freedom of conversation, to preface their entry on these occasions by some speech in praise of the beauty of the ladies, or the generosity of the entertainer; and to the prolixity of such introductions we believe Romeo is made to allude. 2 See note', p. 957 3A torch-bearer seems to have been a constant attendant on every troop of masks. 4 To quote is to observe. We have already observed, that it was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes, before carpets were in use. The stage was also anciently strewn with rushes. The proverb which Romeo means, is contained in the line immediately following: To hold the candle, is a very common proverbial expression, for being an idle spectator. 'Dun's the mouse, is a proverbial expression, the precise meaning of which cannot be determined. & Draw dun out of the mire, seems to have been a game, To burn day-light is a proverbial expression, used when candles, &c. are lighted in the day-time. Atomy is no more than an obsolete substitute for atom.
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 cakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs',
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. 1 Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their feet
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:5 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 day, That I have worn a visor; and could tell
That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 10 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, [gone:
Making them women of good carriage.
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 phantasy;
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 our-
selves;
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.
SCENE V.
A Hall in Capulet's House.
Enter Servants.
Such as would please;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
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 well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
20 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.
[much: 1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 25 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,
Come pentecost as quickly as it will,
Some five-and-twenty years; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.
1 Cap. Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward two years ago.
Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the Of yonder knight?
1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to 40 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.
1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:good thou, save me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou lov'st me, let the porter let în Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!
2 Serv. Ay, boy: ready.
1 Serv. You are look'd for, and call'd for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great chamber.
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn
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 shews a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy iny rude hand.
Did my heart love 'till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty 'till this night.
45 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,
50 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer 55 liver take all.
1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spight,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo, is't?
''This was a common superstition, and seems to have had its rise from the horrid disease called the Plica Polonica. Trenchers were still used by persons of good fashion in our author's time. They continued common much longer in many public societies, particularly in colleges and inns of court; and are still retained at Lincoln's-Inn. Meaning, perhaps, what we call at present the side-board. * March-pane was a confection made of pistachio-nuts, almonds, and sugar, &c. and in high esteem in Shakspeare's time. It was a constant article in the desserts of our ancestors. This exclamation
occurs frequently in the old comedies, and signifies, make room.
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,
Shew 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;
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
100 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 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards'. it c'en so? Why, then I thank you all;
What, goodman boy!-I say,he shall:-Go to;-15Is
Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him!-God shall mendmysoul--
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 a saucy boy:-Is't so, indeed?
This trick may chance to scathe you1;-I know
what.-
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox'; go:-
Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for 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,
Which mannerly devotion shews 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.Othen, dear saints, let lips do whathandsdo;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for
[I take.
prayers' sake.
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect 50
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her.
Jul.Then have my lips the sin thattheyhavetook.
Rom.Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again.
Jul. You kiss by the book.
i. e. to do you an injury. ready, at hand,
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:-
More torches here! Come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late:
I'll to my rest.
[Exeunt.
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. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he that follows there, that would
Nurse. I know not.
[not dance?
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 carly 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.
Now old desire doth on his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair,forwhichlove groan'd sore,andwould 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, [hooks:
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful
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 Chorus.
A princor is a coxcomb, a conceited person.
SCENE I.
The Street.
Enter Romeo alone.
But soft! what light through yonder window
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! [breaks?
[Juliet appears above at a window.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
5 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-
10It is my lady: O, it is my love:
Mer. Nay, F'll conjure too.
Why, Romeo! humours! madman! passion!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ay me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name to 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 thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
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 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 spight: 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
To be consorted with the humourous' night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. [mark.
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
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 'tis in vain
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-
am too bold, 'tis not to me it speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres 'till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightnessofher cheekwouldshamethosestars,
20 As day-light 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,
25 That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. Ay me!
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,
45 Nor arın, nor face, nor any other part:
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,
To seek him here, that means not to be found. 50 Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Rom. I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new-baptiz'd;
Rom.Hejests at scars, that never felt a wound.-55 Henceforth I never will be Roineo.
'Alluding to an old ballad preserved in Dr. Percy's Reliques of ancient English Poetry. 2 Shakspeare means humid, the moist dewy night. The sense is, Thou art thyself (i. e. a being of distinguished excellence), though thou art not what thou appearest to others, akin to thy family in malice.
|