Mercutio.
Merc.
Where the Devil shou'd our Friend Romeo be?
Came he not home To night?
Beanv.
Not to his Father's; I spoke to his Man.
Merc.
Why, that same Cupid torments him so,
that he will sure run mad.
Benv.
Romeo scarce sleeps, or sleeping finds no Rest,
His Mind is so disturb'd with various Dreams.
Merc.
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with him:
She is the Fairies Mid-wife, and she comes
In Shape no bigger than an Agat-stone
On the Fore-finger of an Alderman,
Drawn with a Team of little Atomies,
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 Moon-shine'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,
-- 21 --
Made by the Joyner Squirrel, or old Grub,
Time out of Mind the Fairies Coach-makers.
Benv.
A pretty Equipage! But, to what End?
Merc.
Why, 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 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.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a Lawyer's Nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a Suit:
And sometimes comes she with a Tythe-pig's Tail,
Tickling the Parson as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another Benefice.
Benv.
Queen Mab has certainly paid thee a Visit,
Thou art so full of dreaming Phantasies.
Merc.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a Soldier's Neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign Throats,
Of Breaches, Ambuscades, Spanish Blades,
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.
Rom.
Peace Mercutio, peace:
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Merc.
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.
Benv.
Tybalt, the Kinsman to Old Capulet, hath
sent a Letter to Romeo's Father's House.
Merc.
A Challenge on my Life.
Benv.
Romeo will answer it.
Merc.
Any Man that can write, may answer a
Letter.
Benv.
Nay, he will answer the Letter's Master, if
he be challenged.
-- 22 --
Merc.
Alas! poor Romeo, he's already dead; stabb'd
with a white Wench's black Eye; run thro' the Ear
with a Love-Song; the very Pin of his Heart cleft with
the blind Boy's Bow-Shaft: And is he a Man to encounter
Tibalt?
Benv.
Why, what is Tibalt?
Merc.
More than the Prince of Cats: O he's the
couragious Captain of Compliments; he fights as you
sing prickt Songs; 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!
Benv.
The what?
Merc.
Pox of such antick Lisping affected Phantasies;
these new Tuners of Accents: A very good
Blade!—a very tall Man! a very good Whore!—why
is not this a lamentable Thing, Grandsire, that we
shou'd be thus afflicted with these strange Flies, these
Fashion-mongers, these pardonnez moy's, who stand
so much on the new Form that they cannot sit at Ease,
on the old Bench: Oh! their Bon's! their Bon's!
Enter Romeo.
Benv.
Here comes Romeo.
Merc.
Without his Roe, like a dried Herring: Oh!
Flesh, Flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for
the Numbers that Petrarch flow'd in: Laura to his
Lady was but a Kitchen-wench; marry she had better
Love to berime her: Dido a Dowdy, Cleopatra a
Gipsy, Helen and Hero Hildings and Harlots: Thisby
a grey Eye or so; but not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo Bonjour; there's a French Salutation to your
French Stop.
Rom.
Good-morrow to you both!
Enter Nurse and Peter.
Nurse.
Peter!
Peter.
Anon.
Nurse.
My Fan Peter.
-- 23 --
Merc.
Do, good Peter, to hide her Face; for her
Fan is the fairer of the two
Nurse.
Give you Good-morrow, Gentlemen.
Merc.
Give you Good-e'en, fair Gentlewoman.
Nurse.
Is it Good-e'en.
Merc.
'Tis even so, good Lady.
Nurse.
Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where
I may find young Romeo?
Rom.
I am the youngest of that Name.
Nurse.
If you be he, Sir, I desire some Confidence
with you.
Benv.
She will indite, or invite him to a Supper.
Merc.
A Bawd, a Bawd: So ho! Romeo; will
you come to your Father's? We'll to Supper thither.
Rom.
I'll follow you.
Merc.
Farewell ancient Lady.
[Ex. Mercutio and Benvolio.
Nurse.
I pray you, Sir, what saucy Merchant was
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 he 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'll find those
that shall, scurvy Knave! I am none of his flirt Gills.
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 you, if you
shou'd lead her into a Fool's Paradice, as they say, it
were a very gross kind of Behaviour as they say; for
the Gentlewoman is young, and therefore if you shou'd
deal double with her truly it were an ill thing to be
offer'd to any Gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Rom.
Commend me to thy Lady and Mistress—I
protest unto thee
Nurse.
Good Heart, and i'faith I'll tell her as much.
Lord, Lord, she'll be a joyful Woman.
Rom.
What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? thou dost
not mark me,
-- 24 --
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
this Afternoon; and there she shall at Friar Laurence
Cell be shrived 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.
Farewell, be trusty, and I'll quit thy Pains.
Nurse.
Now Heaven bless thee! Harkee Sir!
Rom.
What say'st thou, my dear Nurse?
Nurse.
Is your Page secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep Council, putting one away?
Rom.
I warrant thee, the Lad's as true as Steel
Nurse.
Well Sir, my Mistress is the sweetest Lady,
Lord! Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing—
Oh! there's a Nobleman in Town, one Paris that
wou'd fain lay Knife a-board; but she, good Soul,
had as lieve see a Toad, a very Toad, as see him: I
anger her sometimes, 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 versal World.
Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a
Letter.
Rom.
Aye Nurse! what of that? Both with an R.
Nurse.
Aye Mocker! that's the Dog's name. R
is for thee. No, I know it begins with no other Letter;
and she hath the prettiest Sententions of it, of
you, and Rosemary; that it wou'd do you good to
hear it.
Rom.
Commend me to thy Lady
[Exit. Romeo.
Nurse.
A thousand times. Peter.
-- 25 --
Peter.
Anon
Nurse.
Take my Fan, and go before.
[Exeunt.
Theophilus Cibber [1748], Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy, Revis'd, and Alter'd from Shakespear, By Mr. Theophilus Cibber. First Reviv'd (in September, 1744,) at the Theatre in the Hay-Market: Now Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane... To which is added, A Serio-Comic Apology, For Part of the Life of Mr. Theophilus Cibber, Comedian. Written by Himself... Interspersed with Memoirs and Anecdotes, relating to Stage-Management, Theatrical Revolutions, &c. Also, Cursory Observations on some principal Players... Concluding with a Copy of Verses, call'd, The Contrite Comedian's Confession (Printed for C. Corbett... and G. Woodfall [etc.], London) [word count] [S37400].
