Mercutio.* note
Mer.
Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came
he not home, to-night?
Ben.
Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
-- 109 --
Mer.
Why, that same pale, hard-hearted wench, that
Juliet, torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben.
Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a
letter to his father's house.
Mer.
A challenge, on my life.
Ben.
Romeo will answer it.
Mer.
Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd
with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear
with a love-song, the very pin of his heart cleft with
the blind bow-boy's but-shaft; and is he a man to encounter
Tibalt?
Ben.
Why, what is Tibalt?
Mer.
Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments;
he fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time,
distance, and proportion; rests his minum, one, two,
and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very
first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal
passado, the punto reverso, the hay—
Ben.
The what?
Mer.
The pox of such antic, lisping, affected phantasies,
these new tuners of accents.—Jesu, a
very good blade—a very tall man—a very good
whore—Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire,
that we should be thus afflicted with these strange
flies, these fashion mongers, these pardonnez moy's?
Ben.
Here comes Romeo.
Mer.
Without his roe, like a dried herring. O
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the
numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura to his lady
was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love
to be-rhime her. Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots. Thisbe a grey
eye or so, but not to the purpose.
Enter Romeo.
Signior Romeo, bonjour, there's a French salutation for
you.
Rom.
Good-morrow to you both.
Mer.
You gave us the counterfeit fairly, last night.
-- 110 --
Rom.
What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer.
The slip, sir, the slip: can you not conceive?
Rom.
Pardon, Mercutio, my business was great, and
in such a case as mine, a man may strain curtesy,
Enter Nurse and her Man.
Ben.
A sail! a sail!
Mer.
Two, two, a shirt and a smock.
Nurse.
Peter.
Pet.
Anon.
Nurse.
My fan, Peter.
Mer.
Do, good Peter, to hide her face.
Nurse.
Good ye good-morrow, gentlemen.
Mer.
Good ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse.
Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I
may find young Romeo?
Rom.
I am the youngest of that name, for fault of
a worse.
Nurse.
You say well. If you be he, sir,
I desire some confidence with you.
Ben.
She will indite him to supper, presently.
Mer.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd: So ho.
Rom.
What hast thou found?
Mer.
No hare, sir, but a bawd. Romeo, will you
come to your father's? We'll to dinner thither.
Rom.
I will follow you.
Mer.
Farewel, ancient lady.
[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
Nurse.
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was
this, that was so full of his roguery?
Rom.
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself
talk, and will speak more in a minute, than he
will stand to in a month.
Nurse.
An' a speak any thing against me, I'll take
him down, an' he were lustier than he is, and twenty
such jacks: and if I cannot, I will find those that
shall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills;
and thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to
use me at his pleasure.
[To her man.
-- 111 --
Pet.
I saw no man use you at his pleasure: if I had,
my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant
you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see
occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse.
Now, afore Heav'n, I am so vext, that every
part about me quivers—Scurvy knave! Pray you,
sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me
enquire you out. What she bid me say, I will keep to
myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her
into fools paradise, as they say, it were a very gross
kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman
is young, and therefore if you should deal double with
her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any
gentlewoman.
Rom.
Commend me to thy lady and mistress, I protest
unto thee—
Nurse.
Good heart, and i'faith, I will tell her as
much. Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.
Rom.
What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost
not mark me.
Nurse.
I will tell her, sir, that you do protest;
which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.
Rom.
Bid her devise some means to come to shrift,* note
this afternoon;
And there she shall, at friar Lawrence' cell,
Be shriv'd and married; here is for thy pains,
Nurse.
No truly, sir, not a penny.
Rom.
Go to, I say, you shall.
Nurse.
This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
Rom.
And stay, good nurse; behind the abbey wall,
Within this hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy,
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewel, be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Nurse.
Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady;
lord, lord, when 'twas a little prating thing—Oh,
there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would
fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve
see a toad, a very toad, as see him: I anger her, sometimes,
-- 112 --
and tell her that Paris is the properer man:
but I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale
as any clout in the varsal world.
Rom.
Commend me to thy lady—
[Exit Romeo.
Nurse.
A thousand times. Peter?
Pet.
Anon.
Nurse.
Take my fan, and go before.
[Exeunt.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
