Stretch him out longer.

Edg. O, he is gone, indeed.

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life.

Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present business Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain [To KENT and EDGAR. Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; My master calls, and I must not say, no.

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest bath borne most; we, that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

[Exeunt, with a dead march.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

ESCALUS, Prince of Verona.

PARIS, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince
MONTAGUE, Heads of two Houses, at variance with
CAPULET,
each other.

An OLD MAN, Uncle to Capulet.
ROMEO, Son to Montague.
MERCUTIO, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to
Romeo.

BENVOLIO, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to
Romeo.

TYBALT, Nephew to Lady Capulet.

FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.

FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.

BALTHAZAR, Servant to Romeo.
SAMPSON, S

GREGORY, ervants to Capulet.

ABRAM, Servant to Montague.

An APOTHECARY.

Three MUSICIANS.

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.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when maids; I will cut of their heads. I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the

Gre. The heads of the maids ?

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gre. 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.

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish: if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.

Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both Houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

SCENE, during the greater part of the Play, in VERONA: once, in the fifth Act, at MANTUA.

PROLOGUE,

Two households both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

ACT I.

SCENE I-A public Place.

Enter SAMPSON aud GREGORY, armed with Swords and Bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers, Sam. I mean, au we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while we live, draw your neck out of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is-to stand to it; therefore, if thou art moved, thou run'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.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave: for the weakest goes to the wall.

23

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre, No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law on our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. 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?

Sum. 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?

Gre. No.

Sum. No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir; but I bite my thumb, Sir.

Gre. 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.

Sum. Well, Sir.

down!

Enter CAPULET, in his Gown; and LADY CAPULET. Cap. What noise is this?-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 tourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE, and LADY MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet.-Hold me not, let me go.

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 beastsThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons 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, Canker'd with peace, to part our canker'd 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.

Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt PRINCE, and Attendants; CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, CITIZENS, and Servants.

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 prepared; 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 today ?

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 east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where,-underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's 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,That most are busied when they are most alone,— Pursued my humour, not pursuing his, And 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-cheering sun
Should in the further east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber peus himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentious must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the case remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affection's 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,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

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 denied.
Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE, and LADY.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.

Ah 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. Out-

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 pathways to his will! 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 :--
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!

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. Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd 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; Being urg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes: Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet, Farewell, my coz.

Ben. Soft, I will go along;

[Going.

And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself: I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he is some other where.
Ben. Tell 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;Ah, 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 marksman!-And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair cóż, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss; she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; And, in 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 th' encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,

That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge

waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely 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 masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;

He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show 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 ?
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Street.
Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and SERVANT.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their príde,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
Au she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; bear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Such, amongst view of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckoning none. Come, go with me!-Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out, Whose names are written there, [Gives a puper] and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burn ing,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to thine eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, sir, can you read ? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read anything you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.

[Reads. Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

A fair assembly; [Gives back the note.] Whither should they come

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house. Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! [Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires! And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A Room in CAPULET'S House.
Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,

I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!→
God forbid !-where's this girl ?-what, Juliet !
Enter JULIET.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here;
What is your will?

La. Cup. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave

awhile,

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel;
Thou know'st, 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 teen be it spoken, I have but four,-
She is 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 of the year, upon that day;
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua:-
Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, 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, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man :-took up the child:
Yea, quoth he, dost thou full upon thy face?
Thou wilt full backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule ? and by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said- Ay:
To see now, how a jest shall come about!

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he:

And pretty fool, it stinted, and said—áy.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose 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 cockrel's stone;

A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-Ay.

Jul. And stint thou 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 nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
1 have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of;-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say,
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 faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentle-
man ?

This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify 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 many's 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 yourself 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.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed 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.

SCENE IV.-A Street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.

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; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: 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 soul 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 enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so 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; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love,

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in:

[Putting on a Mush.

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 grandsire phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-

The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay,

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five 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

you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-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 grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry 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
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner 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 courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime 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 ear; 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 the foul sluttish hairs,
Which once entangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, 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 fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even 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, yet 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 sail!-On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A Hall in CAPULET'S House.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate: good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy: ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.-Cheer ly, boys: be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.

[They retire behind. Enter CAPULET, &c, with the Guests and the Maskers. Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their

toes

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:Ah ha, 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 you now? You are 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 welcome, gentlemen !-Come, musicians, play.

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves! and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room has grown too hot.Ab, 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 yourself 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 Cup. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, Sir; His son is thirty.

1 Cup. 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?

Serv. 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 Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows 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!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :-
Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the slave
Come hither, covered with an antic 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?

Tyb. Uncle, that is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 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, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him.

1 Cap. He shall be endur'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 my guests!

You will set a cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap. Go to, go to.

You are a saucy boy :-Is't so, indeed?—
This trick may chance to scath 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, more light, for shame!-
I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. 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 profane with my unworthy hand
[To JULIET.

[Exit.

This holy shrine, the gentle fine 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 shows in this: For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' 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 prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, 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 the book.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with

you.

Rom. What is her mother?

Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

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'd 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, begone: the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 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, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.

[Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE. Jul. Come hither, nurse; What is yon gentleman ? Nurse, The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now he is going out of door? Nurse. Marry, that I think be young Petruchio. Jul. What's he, that follows there, 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 Montague; 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,