SCENE I.
A STREET.
Enter Sampson, and Gregory, two servants of Capulet.
Sam.
Gregory, o' my word, 2 note
we'll not carry coals.
Greg.
No, for then we should be colliers.
-- 6 --
Sam.
I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Greg.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of
the collar.
-- 7 --
Sam.
I strike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg.
But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike.
Sam.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Greg.
To move, is—to stir; and to be valiant,
is—to stand to it: 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 weaker
vessels, 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 3 note
cruel
with the maids; I will cut off their heads.
Greg.
The heads of the maids?
Sam.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
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,
-- 8 --
thou hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool; here
comes of the house of the Montagues. 9Q1096
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!
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. 4 note
I will bite my thumb at
them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
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.
-- 9 --
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.
5 noteEnter Benvolio.
Greg.
Say—better; here comes one of my master's
kinsmen6 note
.
Sam.
Yes, better, sir.
Abr.
You lye.
Sam.
Draw, if you be men.—Gregory, remember
thy swashing blow7 note
.
[They fight.
Ben.
Part, fools; put up your swords;
You know not what you do.
-- 10 --
Enter Tybalt.
Tyb.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
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.
Enter three or four citizens, with clubs.
Cit.
Clubs, bills, and partizans! 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?—8 note
Give 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.
-- 11 --
La. Mon.
Thou shalt not stir one 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
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,—
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons9 note
to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.—
Three civil brawls, 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. 9Q1097
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince, Capulet, &c.
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;
-- 12 --
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 I am, he was not at this fray.
Ben.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east1 note
,
A troubled mind drave 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:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,—
2 note
That most are busied when they are most alone,—
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
3 noteAnd gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's 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
-- 13 --
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.
4 noteBen.
Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon.
Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
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,
5 note
Or dedicate his beauty to the same.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.
Enter Romeo, at a distance.
Ben.
See, where he comes: So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.
-- 14 --
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 young6 note?
Ben.
But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ay 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.
Out7 note
—
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 8 note
to his will!
-- 15 --
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:—
9 note
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
-- 16 --
O any thing, of nothing first created!
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.
1 noteWhy, such is love's transgression.—
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
2 noteBeing purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
3 note
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewel, my coz.
[Going.
Ben.
Soft, I will go along;
An 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.
-- 17 --
Ben.
4 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.
Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit;
5 noteAnd, 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 the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when she dies, 7 note
with beauty dies her store.
-- 18 --
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 posterity9 note
.
She is too fair, too wise; 1 notewisely too 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:
These happy masks2 note, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
-- 19 --
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 forget3 note
.
Ben.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
