Rom.
What, shall this speech be spoke for 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.
† ^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.

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.† ^note

Mer.
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.

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-holder, and look on.* ^note















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.

&plquo;Mer.
&plquo;O then I see queen Mab hath been with you.
&plquo;She is the fairies mid-wife, and she comes
&plquo;In shape no bigger than an agat-stone
&plquo;On the fore-finger of an alderman,
&plquo;Drawn with a team of little atomies,
&plquo;Athwart mens noses as they lye asleep:

&plquo;Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners legs;
&plquo;The cover, of the wings of grashoppers;
&plquo;The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
&plquo;The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams;
&plquo;Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
&plquo;Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,
&plquo;Not half so big as a round little worm,
&plquo;Prickt from the lazy finger of a maid.
&plquo;Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
&plquo;Made by the joyner squirrel or old grub,
&plquo;Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers:
&plquo;And in this state she gallops night by night,
&plquo;Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love:
&plquo;On courtiers knees, that dream on curtsies strait:
&plquo;O'er lawyers fingers, who strait dream on fees:
&plquo;O'er ladies lips, who strait on kisses dream,
&plquo;Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
&plquo;Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
&plquo;Sometimes she gallops o'er a ^{f note}lawyer's nose,
&plquo;And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
&plquo;And sometimes comes she with a tith-pig's tail,
&plquo;Tickling a parson as he lies asleep;
&plquo;Then dreams he of another benefice.
&plquo;Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
&plquo;And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
&plquo;Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
&plquo;Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
&plquo;Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes,
&plquo;And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
&plquo;And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
&plquo;That plats the manes of horses in the night,
&plquo;And ^{g note}cakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
&plquo;Which once ^{h note}untangled, much misfortune bodes.

&plquo;This is the hag, when maids lye on their backs,
&plquo;That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
&plquo;Making them women of good carriage:
&plquo;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 phantasie,
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 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 lye all 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-cup-board,

look to the plate: good thou, save me a peice 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.