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Rom. Whither? to supper?
Serv. To our house.
Rom. Whose house?
Serv. My master's.
Rom. Indeed, I should have alk'd

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. Reft you merry.

[Exit. Ben. At this fame 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 fallhoods, then turn tears to fires ! And these-who, often drown'd, could never die

Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars !
One fairer than my love! the all-feeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois’d with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, 5 let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will shew you, shining at this feast,
And she shall shew fcant well, that now shews beft.

I'H go along, no such fight to be shewn;

nice in splendor of mine own. [Excunt.

be weigh'd Your lady's love want some other maid] But the comparison was not betwixt the love that Romeo's mistress paid him, and the person of any other young woman; but betwixt Romeo's mistress herself, and some other that should be matched against her. The poet therefore must certainly have wrote ;

Your lady-love against some other maid. WAR BURTON, Your lady's love is the love you bear to your lady, which in our language is commonly used for the lady herself, RevisAL.

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years old)

Enter lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her

forth to me.
Nurse. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve
I bade lier come. - What, lamb! what, lady-bird !
God forbid !---where's this girl? what, Juliet !

Enter Juliet.
Ful. How now, who calls ?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madan, 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 remembered 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's not fourteen. How long is't now to Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days.
Nurje. Even or odd, of all days in the

yea Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourter and she (God rest all Christian Well, Susan is with God; the But as I said, on Lammas-eve at night shall me be fourteen; that shall she, marry, I remember it well. It is 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

1

1-to my teen] To my forrow. JOHNSON.

wood

wood to my dug, sitting i the sun under the Dovehouse wall, my lord and you were then at Mantua. -Nay, I do bear a brain.-But, as I said, when it did taste the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! to see it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-houseit was 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 foul! 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, Juli? 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 not forget it: Wilt thou not, Juli, quoth he? and, pretty fool, 2 it {tinted, and said, ay.

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

3 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 cockrel's stone; a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall’tt upon

a letter

it flinted,] i. e. it stopped, it forbore from weeping. So Sir Thomas North, in his tranflation of Plutarch, speaking of the wound which Anthony received, says," for the blood Ainted a little when he was laid.” -So in Titus Andronicus,

“ He can at pleasure fint their melody." Again, in The Revenger's Tragedy, 1607:

“ New bleeding from their pens, scarce flinted yet.” Again, in Cynthia's Revenge, by Ben Jonson,

Stint thy babbling tongue.” Steevens. 3 Nurse. Yes, Mudam ; yet I cannot chuyê, &c.] This speech and tautology is not in the first edition. Pope. B 4

thy

thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; wilt thou not, Juli? it ftinted, 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,
An' I might live to see thee married once,
I 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. 4 It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour? were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst fuck'd wisdoin from thy teat.

5 La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
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. Cep. Verona's summer hath not such a lower. 6 Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

than you

.

4. It is an honour] The modern editors all read, it is an honour. I have restored the genuine word, which is more seemly from a girl to her mother. Your, fire, and such words as are vulgarly yttered in two fyllables, are used as difiyllables by Shakespeare.

JOHNSON. The first quarto reads honour; the folio hour, I have chosen the reading of the quarto. STEEVENS.

s Instead of this speech, the quarte, 1597, has only one line : " Well, girl, the noble County Paris seeks thee for hủs wife.”

STEEVENS. 6 After this speech of the Nurfe, Lady Capulet in the old quarto says only,

** Well, Juliet, how like you of Paris' love ?” She answers, “I'll look to that, &c.” and so concludes the scene, without the intervention of that stuff to be found in the later quartos and the fclio. STEEVENS.

2

1 La. Cape

1 La. Cap. What say you ? can you like the gen

tleman ?
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 ;
8 Examine ev'ry sev'ral lineament,
And fee, 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,
9 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.

? La. Cap. What suy you, &c.] This ridiculous speech is entirely added since the first edition. Pope.

$ Examine ev'ry fev'ral lineament,] The quarto, 1599, reads, every married lineament.--Shakespeare meant by this last phrase, Examine how nicely one feature depends upon another, or accords with another, in order to produce that harmony of the whole face which seems to be implied in content. In Troilus and Crefida, he speaks of “the married calm of states.”

STEEVENS. 9 That in gold clasps locks in the golden fory,] The golden ftory is perhaps the golden legend, a book in the darker ages of popery much read, and doubtless often exquisitely embellished, but of which Canus, one of the popish doctors, proclaims the author to have been homo ferrei oris, plumbei cordis. JOHNsor;

Enter

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