Come, go with me:—Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there 9Q1100; and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt Capulet, and Paris.

Serv.

^{9 note}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.

Ben.
Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,
  One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
  One desperate grief cures with another's languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die. 9Q1101

Rom.
^{1 note}

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.

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. [He reads the list.]

Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselm, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

Serv.

Up.

Rom.

Whither? to supper^{2 note}
?

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^{3 note}

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.

Rom.
When the devout religion of mine eye
  Maintains such falshood, 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! the 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, ^{4 note}

Rom.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A room in 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 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.

La. Cap.
She's not fourteen.

Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,—
And yet, ^{5 note}

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^{6 note} 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 had 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^{7 note}

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;
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more 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, ^{9 note}

La. Cap.
Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

^{1 note}Nurse.
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 par'lous 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:—Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul.
^{2 note}

Nurse.
An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

^{3 note}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^{4 note}
.

La. Cap.
Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

^{5 note}

^{6 note}La. Cap.
What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume^{7 note}

of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
^{8 note}

Examine every several lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes^{9 note}.
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,
^{1 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?

Jul.
I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye^{2 note},
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.

^{3 note}Serv.

Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd 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. SCENE IV. A STREET. Enter Romeo, Mercutio^{4 note}, 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.
^{5 note}

We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

Rom.
^{8 note}

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.

^{9 note}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 ^{1 note}



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 a mask.
A visor for a visor!—what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities^{2 note}

?
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.

Rom.
A torch for me: ^{3 note}


let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels^{4 note}

I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.—
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mer.
^{6 note}

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire,
^{7 note}

Rom.
Nay, that's not so.

Mer.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, ^{9 note}like lamps by day.

Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits
Five times in that^{1 note}, ere once in our fine wits. 9Q1102

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^{2 note}.

Mer.
^{3 note}

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agat stone
^{4 note}


On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies^{5 note}

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
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 love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
^{6 note}

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,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, ^{7 note}

Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs^{9 note}

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^{1 note},
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,

^{2 note}

Ben.
Strike, drum^{3 note}. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A Hall in Capulet's House. Enter Servants.

1 Serv.

^{4 note}Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher^{5 note}

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 ^{6 note}

^{7 note}

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.

2 Serv.

We cannot be here and there too.—Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.

1 Cap.
Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their feet
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:—
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all

Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,
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
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please;—'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
^{8 note}You are welcome, gentlemen.—Come, musicians, play.
^{9 note}

For you and I are past ^{2 note}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.
^{3 note}

Rom.
What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight? 9Q1103

Serv.
I know not, sir.

Rom.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night^{4 note}

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 my rude hand.
Did my heart love 'till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty 'till this night^{5 note}

.

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.

1 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.

1 Cap.
Young Romeo is't?

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;
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 set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tyb.
Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap.
Go to, go to,
You are a saucy boy:—Is't so, indeed?—
This trick may chance to scathe you^{6 note}

Tyb.
^{9 note}
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. [Exit.

Rom.
^{1 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.

Jul.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom.
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her.

Jul.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Rom.
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again.

Jul.
You kiss by the book.9Q1104

Nurse.
Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Rom.
What is her mother?

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 talk'd 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, 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^{2 note}

Jul.
Come hither, nurse^{4 note}: 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 not dance?

Nurse.
I know not.

Jul.
Go, ask his name:—if he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.9Q1105

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 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.

Enter ^{5 note}

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