La. Cap.

Nurse, where's my Daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse.

Now by my Maiden-head, at twelve Years old, I bad her come; what Lamb, what Lady-bird, God forbid.— Where's this Girl? what, 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 remembred me, thous' hear my Counsel: Thou knowest 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 to my Teeth 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, do bear a Brain. But as I said, when it did taste the Worm-wood on the Nipple of my Dug, and felt it hitter, 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, byth' Rood she could have run, and wadled all about; for even the Day before she broke her Brow, and then my Husband, God be 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, Juliet? And by my Holy-dam, the pretty Wretch left Crying, and said, Ay; to see now how a Jest shall come about. I warrant, and I should live a thousand Years, I never should forget it: Wilt thou not, Juliet, quoth he? and pretty Fool, it stinted, and said, Ay.

La. Cap.

Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy Peace.

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 Cockrels 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, Juliet? 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, and I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

La. Cap.
Marry, that marry is the very Theam
I came to talk of; tell me, Daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul.
'Tis an hour that I dream not of.

Nurse.

An hour, were not I thine only Nurse, I would say that 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 saith a very Flower.

La. Ca.
What say you, can you love the Gentleman?
This Night you shall behold him at our Feast,
Read o'er the Volume of young Paris's Face,
And find Delight writ there with Beauty's Pen;
Examine every several Lineament,
And see how one, another lends Content;
And what obscur'd in this fair Volume lyes,
Find written in the Margent of his Eyes.
This precious Book of Love, this unbound Lover,
To beautifie 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 manies Eyes doth share the Glory,
That in Gold Clasps locks in the golden Story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making your self 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,
Than your Consent gives Strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.

Ser.

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 straight.

La. Cap.
We follow thee. Juliet, the County stays.

Nurse.
Go, Girl, seek happy Nights to happy Days. [Exeunt.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers, Torch-bearers.

Rom.
What, shall this Speech be spoke to our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apology?

Ben.
The date is out of such prolixity,
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a Scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted Bow of Lath,
Scaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper.
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 Sole of Lead,
So stakes me to the Ground I cannot move.

Mer.
You are a Lover, borrow Cupid's Wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom.
I am too sore impierced with his Shaft,
To soar with his light Feathers, and to 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 boisterous, it pricks like Thorn.

Mer.
If Love be rough with you, be rough with Love,
Prick Love for pricking, and you Love beat down:
Give me a Case to put my Visage in,
A Visor for a Visor; what care I
What curious Eye doth quote Deformities,
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, let Wantons, light of Heart,
Tickle the senseless Rushes with their Heels;
For I am proverb'd with a Grand-sire Phrase;
I'll be a Candle-lighter, and look on,
The Game was ne'er so fair, and I am Done.

Mer.
Tut, Dun's the Mouse, the Constables own word;
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the Mire;

Or, save your Reverence, Love, wherein thou stickest
Up to the Ears: Come, we burn day-light, ho.

Rom.
Nay, that's not so.

Mer.
I mean, Sir, we delay.
We waste our Lights in vain, lights, lights, by day;
Take our good meaning, for our Judgment fits
Five things in that, e'er 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 Lie.

Rom.
In Bed asleep; while they do dream things true.

Mer.

O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you: 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 teem of little Atomies, over Mens Noses as they lye asleep: Her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners Legs; the Cover, of the Wings of Grashoppers; her Trace of the smallest Spider's Web; her Collars of the Moonshine's watry beams; her Whip of Cricket's bone; the Lash of film; her Waggoner a small gray-coated Gnat, not half so big as a round little Worm, prickt from the lazy Finger of a Woman. Her Chariot is an empty Hazel-Nut, made by the Joyner 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 Countries Knees, that dream on Cursies 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 Courtier's Nose, and then dreams he of smelling out a Suit: And sometimes comes she with a Tith-pigs Tail, tickling a Parson's Nose as he lies asleep; then he dreams of another Benefice. Sometimes she driveth o'er a Soldier's Neck, and then dreams he of cutting Foreign Throats, of Breaches, Ambuscadoes, 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. This is that very Mab that plats the Manes of Horses in the Night, and bakes the Elf-locks in foul sluttish Hairs, which once intangled, much Misfortunes bodes.

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 Phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the Air,
And more unconstant than the Wind; who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the North,
And being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side 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 still 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,
Direct my Suit: On, lusty Gentlemen.

Ben.
Strike, Drum. They march about the Stage, and Servants come forth with their Napkins.

1 Ser.
Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
He shift a Trencher! He scrape a Trencher!

2 Ser.
When good Manners shall ye in one or two Mens
Hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Ser.

Away with the Joint-stools, remove the Court-cupboard, look to the Plate: Good thou, save me a piece of March-pane; and as thou lovest me, let the Porter let in

Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthony, and Potpan.

2 Ser.

Ay, Boy, ready.

1 Ser.

You are look'd for, call'd for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great Chamber.

2 Ser.
We cannot be here and there too; chearly Boys;
Be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt. Enter all the Guests and Ladies to the Maskers.

1 Cap.
Welcome, Gentlemen;
Ladies that have their Toes
Unplagu'd with Corns, will walk about with you.
Ah me, 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 ye now?
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:
You are all welcome, Gentlemen; come, Musicians, play. [Musick plays, and they Dance.
A Hall, Hall; give room, and foot it, Girls:
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, good Cousin Capulet,
For you and I, are past our dancing daies:
How long is't now since last your self 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 is that which doth enrich the Hand
Of yonder Knight?

Ser.
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!
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 blessed my rude Hand.
Did my Heart love till now; forswear it Sight?
For I ne'er saw true Beauty 'till this Night.

Tib.
This by his Voice should be a Mountague.
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,
Te strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

Cap.
Why, how now, Kinsman,
Wherefore storm you so?

Tib.
Uncle, this is a Mountague, our Foe:
A Villain that is hither come in spight,
To scorn at our Solemnity this Night.

Cap.
Young Romeo, is it?

Tib.
'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 the 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 of a Feast.

Tib.
It fits, when such a Villain is a Guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap.
He shall be indur'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 the Guests:
You will set Cock-a-hoop? You'll be the Man?

Tib.
Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.

Cap.
Go to, go to.

You are a saucy Boy—'tis 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, for shame;
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my Hearts.

Tib.
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.
If I prophane with my unworthiest Hand, [To Juliet.
This holy Shrine, the gentle sin 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—the Pilgrim's Hand do touch,
And Palm to Palm, is holy Palmer's 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 Prayers effect do take:
Thus from my Lips, by thine 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 th' Book.

Nur.
Madam, your Mother craves a word with you.

Rom.
What is her Mother?

Nur.
Marry, Batchelor,
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 withal:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the Chinks.

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 yond' Gentleman?

Nur.
The Son and Heir of old Tyberio.

Jul.
What's he that now is going out of Door?

Nur.
Marry, that I think to be young Petruchio.

Jul.
What's he that follows here, that would not dance?

Nur.
I know not.

Jul.
Go ask his Name. If he be Married,
My Grave is like to be my wedding Bed.

Nur.
His Name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The only Son of our 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.

Nur.
What's this? what's this?

Jul.
A Rhime I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet.

Nur.
Anon, anon:
Come, let's away, the Strangers all are gone, [Exeunt.

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