SCENE III.
A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse1 note.
La. Cap.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now, by my maiden-head,—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,
-- 35 --
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.
La. Cap.
She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen2 note
be it spoken, I have but four.—
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,—God rest all Christian souls!—
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 years3 note;
And she was wean'd,—I never shall forget it,—
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
-- 36 --
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua:—
Nay, I do bear a brain3 note
:—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, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone4 note; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about* note.
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:
Yea, quoth he,
dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule† note 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† note?
quoth he:
And, pretty fool, it stinted5 note
, and said—Ay.
-- 37 --
La. Cap.
Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.
Nurse.
Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but laugh6 note,
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 cockrel's stone;
A parlous 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.
La. Cap.
Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of* note:—Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition† note to be married?
Jul.
It is an honour7 note
that I dream not of.
-- 38 --
Nurse.
An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I would say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap.
Well8 note
, 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* note.
Nurse.
A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
As all the world—Why, he's a man of wax9 note
.
La. Cap.
Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse1 note
.
Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
-- 39 --
La. Cap.
What say you2 note? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume3 note
of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament4 note
,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes5 note
.
-- 40 --
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover6 note
:
The fish lives in the sea7 note
; 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 story8 note
;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse.
No less? nay, bigger; women grow by men.
La. Cap.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love* note?
-- 41 --
Jul.
I'll look to like, if looking liking move9 note:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye1 note,
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Madam2 note, 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.
La. Cap.
We follow thee.—Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
