Imagens das páginas

Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.

Gre. No.

And made Verona's ancient citizens

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your 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,

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.
No better.



Sam. Well, sir.

Gre. Say 'better:' here comes one of my To know our further pleasure in this case, master's kinsmen.

To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 110 [Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Montague, and Benvolio. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight.



Ben. Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds?


Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,

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 breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: 119
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy 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

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.


Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp❜dsun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the
grove of
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're 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

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!

[They fight. Enter several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs. First Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!


Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY

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 flourishes 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 a foot to seek a foe.

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We would as willingly give cure as know.


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 furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importuned him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' 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



Enter ROMEO.

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.

Is the day so young?

Ben. But new struck nine.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.



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


Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

weep. 189

No, coz,
I rather
Rom. Good heart, at what?
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 prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast


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Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit


'Tis the way


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!

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



Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 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.

Soft! I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Groan! why, no;


But sadly tell me who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you
Rom. A right good mark-man! And she's
fair I love.

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 the 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 starved 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 ruled by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to


Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

SCENE II. A street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.
Cap. But 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 lived 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 pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers

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Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early

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;
An 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


At my poor house look to behold this night


Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:

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.

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; hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view, of many mine being one
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a paper.]
Go, sirrah, trudge about


Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,
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

Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, 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.


Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's lan-

Take thou some new infection to thy 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-God-den, good fellow.

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you


Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60 Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing 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: whither should they come?
Serv. Up.


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

Serv. My master's.


Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.


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 poised with herself in either eye:
But in that 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



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!

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We must talk in secret:-nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. 10
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

She is not fourteen.
To Lammas-tide?

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,

How long is it now

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 :-


And what obscured in this fair volume lies

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:


Nay, I do bear a brain:-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 30| Find written in the margent of his eyes.
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 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.

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
the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
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 'Ay.'
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold
thy peace.
Nurse. Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but

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 cockerel's stone;
A parlous 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, 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 nursed:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
La. Cap.

Marry, that 'marry' is the very

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


I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy

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
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the
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,


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.

Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.


La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes


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.

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.

La. Cap. We follow thee. [Exit Servant.]
Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy

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 hoodwink'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


Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, 20
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

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

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love 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 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 sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgement 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.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.
And so did I.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
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' 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 watery 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 o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of


O'er 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

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
50 Of a despised life closed in my breast
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail!On, Tusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.




Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime 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 foul sluttish hairs, 90
Which once untangled 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 is she-

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.


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 ourselves;


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SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with napkins.

First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!

Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

First 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!

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Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

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

Sec. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

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