How long is it now to Lammas-tide?
La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurfe Even or odd, of all days in the year, come • Lammas eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan

and the (God reft all Chriftian fouls!) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God, fhe 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 fince the earthquake now eleven years, and the • was wean'd; I never fhall forget it; of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid wormwood to my dug, fitting in the fun under the dove houfe wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua— · nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did • taste the wormwood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall qut with ⚫ the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-house-'twas no ⚫ need I trow to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then fhe could ftand alone; nay, by th'rood, fhe could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before the broke her brow, and then my husband (God be with his foul, a' was a merry · man) took up the child; Yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face ; thou wilt fall backward when thou • haft more wit, wilt thou not Julé? and by my holy • dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid Ay. To fee now how a jeft fhall come about. -I warrant, an' I fhould live a thousand years, I fhould not forget ⚫it. Wilt thou not, Julé quoth he; and, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid Ay.'

La. Cap. Enough of this, I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it fhould leave crying, and fay Ay; and yet I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone: a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my hufband, fall'ft upon thy face? thou wilt fall backwards when thou comeft to age, wilt thou not Julé? it tinted, and said Ay.

Ful. And tint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurje. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd. [grace! An' might live to fee thee married once,

I have my wifh.

La. Cap. And that fame marriage is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How ftands your difpofition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of,

Nurje. An honour? were not I thine only nurse, I'd fay thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you

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 feeks you for his love.

Nurfe. A man, young Lady, Lady, fuch a man
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower. Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Gap What fay you, can you like the gentleman? This night you fhall behold him at our feaft. Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; Examine ev'ry fev'ral lineament,

And fee how one another lends content:

And what obfcur'd in this fair volume 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 fith lives in the fea, and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide.
That book in many eyes doth fhare the glory,
That in gold clafps locks in the golden ftory.
So fhall you share all that he doth poffefs,
By having him, making yourself no lefs,

Nurfe. No lefs? 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 1 indart mine eye,
Than your confent gives ftrength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. Madam, the gueíts are come, fupper ferv'd up, you call'd, my young Lady aik'd for, the nurse curs'd

VOL. VIII.

in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait. I befcech you, follow ftrait. [Exeunt.

*

SCENE V. Aftreet before Capulet's house. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or fix other mafkers, torch-bearers, and drums.

Rom. What, fhall this fpeech be fpoke for our excufe? Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of fuch 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 a without-book prologue faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance.
But let them meafure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

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 fhoes With nimble foles; I have a foul of lead,

So flakes me to the ground, I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And foar with them above a common bound.
Rom. I am too fore enpearced with his shaft,
To foar with his light feathers: and fo bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I fink.

Mer. And to fink in it, fhould you burthen love:
Too great oppreffion for a tender thing!

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boift'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a cafe to put my vifage in? [Pulling off his mask. A vifard for a vifard? what care 1,

What curious eye doth quote

deformities?

Here are the beetle-brows fhall blufh for me.

follow ftrait.

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.
Nurfe. Go, girl, feck happy nights to happy days.

SCENE &c.

Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no fooner in,

But ev'ry man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the fenfelefs rufhes with their heels;

For I am proverb'd with a grandfire-phrafe;
I'll be a candle holder and look on. *
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.

Mer. And fo did I.

Rom. Well; what was your's?
Mer. That dreamers often lye,

Rom.

-In bed afleep; while they do dream.

things true.

Mer. O then I fee Queen Mab hath been with you. 'She is the fancy's midwife, and the comes In fhape no bigger than an agat-ftone 'On the fore-finger of an alderman; Drawn with a team of little atomies,

• Athwart mens' nofes as they lie afleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover of the wings of grafhoppers;

• The traces of the smallest spider's web;
The collars of the moonfhine's watry beams;
Her whip of cricket's bone: the lash of film ;
Her waggoner a fmall grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo 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 fquirrel, or old grub,.
• Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.

-and look on.

The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the conftable's own word;
If thou art done, we'll draw thee from the mire;
Or, fave your reverence, love, wherein thou stickest
Up to thine ears: come, we burn diy-light, hɔ.
Rom. Nay, that's not fo.

Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay.

We burn our lights by light, and lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment fits
Five times in that, ere.once in our fine wits.

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mafk;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Ram I dream'd a dream, &c.

And in this fate fhe gallops, night by night,

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; On courtiers' knees, that dream on courtfies ftrait : O'er lawyers' fingers, who ftrait dream on fees: O'er ladies' lips, who frait oön kiffes dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues, Because their breaths with fweet-meats tainted are. Sometimes the gallops o'er a curtier's nofe;. And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit: • And fometimes comes fhe with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep;

Then dreams he of another benefice.

;

• Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuicadoes, Spanith blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes
And being thus, frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plates the manes of horses in the night,
And cakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the bag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them first to bear;
Making them women of good carriage.

This is he

kom. 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 phantafy!
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more unconfant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bofon of the north,

And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,

Turning his face to the dew dropping fouth.

Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves;

Supper is done, and we fhall come too late.

Kom I fear too early; for my mind mifgives, Some confequence, yet hanging in the ftars, Shall bitterly begin his feartel date

With this night's revels; and expire the term