1 Cap.
Welcome gentlemen. Ladies that have your feet
Unplagu'd with corns, ^{i note}we'll have a bout with you.
Ah me, my mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty
I'll swear hath corns; am I come near ye now?
Welcome all gentlemen, I've 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! [Musick plays, and they dance.
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 days:
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's 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 happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love 'till now? forswear it, sight;
I never 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,
To 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't?

Tib.
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 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,
And 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 endur'd.* ^note











Be quiet, or (more light, 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 unworthy 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 that pilgrims hands 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.* ^note

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

Rom.
What is her mother? [To her nurse.

Nurse.
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 chink.

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 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 here, 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.

Nurse.
His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
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 rhime I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet.

Nurse.
Anon, anon—
Come, let's away, thest rangers all are gone. [Exeunt.

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