Imagens das páginas
[blocks in formation]

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 anything, of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen 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 feei 1, that feel no love in this.-
Dost thou not laugh?


No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's trangression.
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

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.


[blocks in formation]

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 aimed so near when I supposed you loved. Rom. A right good marksman!—And she's fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, 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 armed,
From love's weak childish bow she lives un-

She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-sedncing gold.
O, she is rich in beauty: only poor,
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store!
Ben. Then she hath sworn that sne 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 think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes: Examine other beauties.

[blocks in formation]

To call her's, 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:
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read who passed that passing fair
Farewell thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,

In penalty alike; and 't is not hará, Í think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 't is 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 made. Cap. And too soon marred are those so early made.

The earth hath swallowed 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 accustomed 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-apparelled 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:
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 paper],
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 lessened by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's lan

guish :

Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.

[blocks in formation]

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.


Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admiréd beauties of Verona :
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall shew,
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 drowned, 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 those crystal scales, let there be weighed Your lady-love against some other maid That I will shew you, shining at this feast,

And she shall scant shew well. that now shews best

[blocks in formation]

Lady C. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile;

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. Lady C. 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?

Lady C.
A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be four-

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 weaned-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 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 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 dovehouse: 't was no need,
I trow,
l'o bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rond,
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 fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more

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 "Ay."

Lady C. Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy

[blocks in formation]


Lady C. 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. Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

[graphic][merged small]

Lady C. What say you? can you love the gentleman?

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 obscured 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 't is much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes does 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


Lady C. 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 everything in extremity. I must hence to wait: I beseech you, follow straight.

Lady C. We follow thee.-Juliet, the County


[blocks in formation]

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torchbearers, 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 hoodwinked with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper; 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 empiercéd 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 mask.

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 proverbed 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

[blocks in formation]

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 forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon-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 wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked 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

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.
Sometimes 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:
Sometimes 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


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;

« AnteriorContinuar »