Capulets.
Sampson.
Gregory, on my word, 1 note
we'll not carry
coals.
Greg.
No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam.
I mean, an' we be in Choler, we'll
draw.
Greg.
Ay, while you live, draw your Neck out of
the Collar.
Sam.
I strike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg.
But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike.
-- 6 --
Sam.
A dog of the House of Montague moves me.
Greg.
To move, is to stir, and to be valiant, is to
stand; therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'st
away.
Sam.
A dog of that House shall move me to stand.
I will take the wall of any man, or maid of Montague's.
Greg.
That shews thee a weak slave; for the weakest
goes to the wall.
Sam.
True, and therefore women, being the weakest,
are ever thrust to the wall:—therefore I will push
Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
to the wall.
Greg.
The quarrel is between our masters, and us
their men.
Sam.
'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tyrant: when
I have fought with the men, I will be 2 notecruel with the
maids, and cut off their heads.
Greg.
The heads of the maids?
Sam.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or the maiden-heads,
take it in what sense thou wilt.
Greg.
They must take it in sense, that feel it.
Sam.
Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand:
and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Greg.
'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of
the House of the Montagues.
Enter Abram and Balthasar.
Sam.
My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will
back thee.
Greg.
How, turn thy back and run?
Sam.
Fear me not.
Greg.
No, marry: I fear thee!—
-- 7 --
Sam.
Let us take the law of our sides, let them
begin.
Greg.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take
it as they list.
Sam.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at
them, which is a disgrace to them if they bear it.6Q0243
Abr.
Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam.
I do bite my thumb, Sir.
Abr.
Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam.
Is the law on our side, if I say, ay?
Greg.
No.
Sam.
No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir:
but I bite my thumb, Sir.
Greg.
Do you quarrel, Sir?
Abr.
Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.
Sam.
If you do, Sir, I am for you; I serve as good
a man, as you.
Abr.
No better.
Sam.
Well, Sir.
3 noteEnter Benvolio.
Greg.
Say, better. Here comes one of my master's
kinsmen.
Sam.
Yes, better, Sir.
Abr.
You lye.
Sam.
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember
thy swashing blow.
[They fight.
Ben.
Part, fools, put up your swords, you know
not what you do.
Enter Tybalt.
Tyb.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
-- 8 --
Ben.
I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb.
What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee.
Have at thee, coward.
[Fight.
Enter three or four citizens with clubs.
Cit.
Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.
Cap.
What noise is this? 4 notegive me my long sword, ho!
La. Cap.
A crutch, a crutch. Why call you for a sword?
Cap.
My sword, I say: old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spight of me.
Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague.
Mon.
Thou villain, Capulet—Hold me not,
let me go.
La. Mon.
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince with attendants.
Prin.
Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour stained steel—
Will they not hear? what ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
-- 9 --
With purple fountains issuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the Quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient Citizens
Cast by their grave, beseeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away,
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.
SCENE II.
La. Mon.
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach;
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?
Ben.
Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
'Till the Prince came, who parted either Part.
La. Mon.
O where is Romeo! Saw you him to-day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.
-- 10 --
Ben.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peer'd through the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of sycamour,
That westward rooteth from the City side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
5 note
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing him;
6 noteAnd gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon.
Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-chearing Sun
Should, in the furthest East, begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon.
I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
7 noteBen.
Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon.
Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
-- 11 --
Is to himself, I will not say, how true,
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the Air,
8 note
Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.
Enter Romeo.
Ben.
See, where he comes. So please you, step aside,
I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.
Mon.
I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, Madam, let's away.
[Exeunt.
Ben.
Good-morrow, cousin.
Rom.
Is the day so young?
Ben.
But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ah me, sad hours seem long!
—Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben.
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom.
Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
Ben.
In love?
Rom.
Out—
-- 12 --
Ben.
Of love?
Rom.
Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Ben.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom.
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see path-ways 9 noteto his will!
Where shall we dine?—O me!—What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
[Striking his breast.
1 noteWhy then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
Oh, any thing of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben.
No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom.
Good heart, at what?
Ben.
At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom.
2 note
Why, such is love's transgression.—
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them prest
With more of thine; this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
-- 13 --
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs,
3 note
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
4 noteBeing vext, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewel, my cousin.
[Going.
Ben.
Soft, I'll go along.
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom.
Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben.
5 noteTell me in sadness, who she is you love?
Rom.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Ben.
Groan? why, no; but sadly tell me, who.
Rom.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will?—
O word, ill-urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben.
I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom.
A right good marks-man;—and she's fair, I love.
Ben.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom.
But, in that hit, you miss; she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit:
And, 6 notein strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow, she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
-- 14 --
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor
That when she dies, 7 note
with Beauty dies her Store.
Ben.
Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?
8 noteRom.
She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge waste.
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, 9 notetoo wisely fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair;
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben.
Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom.
O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Ben.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other Beauties.
Rom.
'Tis the way
To call hers exquisite in question more;
Those happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost.
Shew me a mistress, that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.
-- 15 --
SCENE III.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap.
And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Par.
Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my Lord, what say you to my Suit?
Cap.
But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the Change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par.
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap.
And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
1 note
She is the hopeful lady of my earth,
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
If she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent, and fair according voice:
This night, I hold an old-accustom'd Feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
2 note
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven's light.
-- 16 --
Such comfort as 3 note
do lusty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, ev'n such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
4 note
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, tho' in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there; and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.
-- 17 --
Serv.
Find them out, whose names are written here?
—It is written, that the Shoemaker should meddle
with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Last, the
Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets.
But I am sent to find those Persons, whose names are
here writ; and can never find what names the writing
person hath here writ. I must to the Learned.—
In good time,—
Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben.
Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's Anguish,
Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning,
One desperate grief cure with another's Languish;
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom.
Your plantan leaf is excellent for that.6Q0244
Ben.
For what, I pray thee?
Rom.
For your broken shin.
Ben.
Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom.
Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipt and tormented, and—Good-e'en, good fellow.
[To the Servant.
Serv.
God gi' good e'en.—I pray, Sir, can you read?
Rom.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv.
Perhaps you have learn'd it without book. But, I pray,
Can you read any thing you see?
Rom.
Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Serv.
Ye say honestly. Rest you merry.—
Rom.
Stay, fellow, I can read.
-- 18 --
[He reads the list.]
Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count
Anselm, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of
Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio,
and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet,
his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rosaline; Livia;
Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and
the lively Helena.
—5 note
A fair assembly; whither should they come?
Serv.
Up.—
Rom.
Whither? to supper?
Serv.
To our house.
Rom.
Whose house?
Serv.
My master's.
Rom.
Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.
Serv.
Now I'll tell you without asking. My master
is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the
House of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup
of wine. Rest you merry.
[Exit.
Ben.
At this same ancient Feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.
-- 19 --
Rom.
When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falshoods, then turn tears to fires!
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing Sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben.
Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself, in either eye;
But in those crystal scales, 6 note
let there be weigh'd
Your lady-love against some other maid,
That I will shew you, shining at this feast,
And she will shew scant well, that now shews best.
Rom.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn;
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Changes to Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.
La. Cap.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years old)
I bade her come; what, lamb! what, lady-bird!
God forbid!—where's this girl? what, Juliet?
-- 20 --
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
a while, 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 7 noteto
my teen be it spoken, I have but four;) she's 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 years, and she
was wean'd; I never shall forget it, of all the days in
the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood
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 worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and
felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see it teachy, 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
alone; nay, by th' rood, she could have run, and
-- 21 --
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; yea,
quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt
fall backward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou
not, Julé? 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 should not forget it: Wilt thou not,
Julé, quoth he? and, pretty fool, it stinted, and said,
ay.
La. Cap.
Enough of this, I pray thee, hold thy
peace.
8 noteNurse.
Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chuse 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 cockrel's stone; a perilous knock, and
it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon
thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest
to age, wilt thou not, Julé? it stinted, and said, ay.
Jul.
And stint thee 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 nurst.
An' I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
La. Cap.
And that same marriage is the very theam
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul.
9 noteIt is an hour that I dream not of.
-- 22 --
Nurse.
An hour? 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.
1 noteLa. Cap.
What say you, can you like the Gentleman?
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 ev'ry sev'ral 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 Eyes doth share the Glory,
2 noteThat in gold clasps locks in the golden Story.
So, shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
-- 23 --
Nurse.
No less? 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 I indart mine eye,
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd
up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse
curst in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I
must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow strait.
La. Cap.
We follow thee. Juliet, the County stays.
Nurse.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Street before Capulet's House.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six
other maskers, torch-bearers, and drums.
Rom.
What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
Ben.
3 noteThe date is out of such prolixity.
-- 24 --
We'll have no Cupid, hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies 4 notelike a crow-keeper:
5 noteNor a 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, 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.
6 noteMer.
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 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 boist'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 Case to put my visage in?
[Putting on his Mask.
A Visor for a Visor!—what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
-- 25 --
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
Ben.
Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,
But ev'ry man betake him to his legs.
Rom.
A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart,
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.
7 note
Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word;
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire6Q0245;
8 note
Or, save your reverence, Love, wherein thou stickest
Up to thine ears: come, we burn day-light, ho.
-- 26 --
Rom.
Nay, that's not so.
Mer.
I mean, Sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our fine 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 true.
Mer.
9 note
O, then I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the Fancy's mid-wife, and she comes
-- 27 --
In shape no bigger than an agat-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens' 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,
Prickt 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 lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies strait;
O'er lawyers fingers, who strait dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who strait on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
1 note
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
-- 28 --
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson as he lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another Benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, 2 note
Spanish blades,
-- 29 --
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, 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,
3 noteAnd cakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
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—
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 unconstant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n 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 ourselves;
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,
4 noteDirect my suit! On, lusty Gentlemen.
Ben.
Strike, drum.
[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.
-- 30 --
SCENE VI.
Changes to a Hall in Capulet's House.
Enter Servants, with Napkins.
1 Serv.
Where's Potpan, that he helps not
to take away? He shift a trencher! he
scrape a trencher!
2 Serv.
When good manners shall lie all in one or
two mens' hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul
thing.
1 Serv.
Away with the joint-stools, remove the
court-cup-board, look to the plate; good thou, save
me a piece of march-pane6Q0246; and, as thou lovest me,
let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.—Antony,
and Potpan—
2 Serv.
Ay, boy, ready.
1 Serv.
You are look'd for, call'd for, ask'd for,
and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 Serv.
We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly,
boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.
[Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Ladies, with the maskers.
1 Cap.
Welcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have your feet
Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you.
Ah me, my mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near you now?
Welcome, all, Gentlemen; I've seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
-- 31 --
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please. 'Tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
5 noteYou're welcome, Gentlemen. Come, musicians, play.
A ball, a ball. Make 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, 6 notegood 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?
2 Cap.
By'r lady, thirty years.
1 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 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 hand
Of yonder knight?
Serv.
I know not, Sir.
Rom.
O she doth teach the torches to burn bright;
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
-- 32 --
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 my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight;
I never 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 spight,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Cap.
Young Romeo, is't?
Tyb.
'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 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.
Cap.
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 soul.
You'll make a mutiny among my guests?
You will sit cock-a-hoop? You'll be the man?
-- 33 --
Tyb.
Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Cap.
Go to, go to,
You are a saucy boy—is't so, indeed?—
This trick may chance to scathe you. 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,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different Greeting.
I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.
Rom.
7 note
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.
O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
-- 34 --
Jul.
Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers' sake.
Rom.
Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take:
Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her.
Jul.
Then have my lips the sin that late they took.
Rom.
Sin from my lips! O trespass, sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again.
Jul.
You kiss by th' book.
Nurse.
Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Rom.
What is her mother?
[To her Nurse.
Nurse.
Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.
Rom.
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 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 here, that would not dance.
-- 35 --
Nurse.
I know not.
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 early 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 e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.
[One calls within, Juliet.
Nurse.
Anon, anon—
Come, let's away, the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.
Enter 8 note
CHORUS.
Now old Desire doth on his death-bed lie,
And young Affection gapes to be his heir;
That Fair, for which love groan'd sore, and would 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,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.
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:
-- 36 --
But Passion lends them power, Time means, to meet;
Temp'ring extremities with extream sweet.
[Exit Chorus.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
