PERSONS REPRESENTED
Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Nobleman, kinsman
to the Prince.
Montague,}Heads of two Houses
at variance with each other.
Capulet, }
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.
Balthasar, Servant to Romeo.
Sampson, Servant to Capulet.
Gregory, Servant to Capulet.
Peter, Servant to Juliet's Nurse.
Abraham, Servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.
Chorus.
Page to Paris; another Page.
An Officer.
Lady Montague, Wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.
Juliet, Daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.
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.
THE PROLOGUE
[Enter Chorus.]
Chor.
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
Doth 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 naught 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 and Gregory armed
with swords and bucklers.]
Sampson.
Gregory, o' my word, we'll not
carry coals.
Gregory.
No, for then we should be colliers.
Sampson.
I mean, an we be in choler we'll
draw.
Gregory.
Ay, while you live, draw your
neck out o' the collar.
Sampson.
I strike quickly, being moved.
Gregory.
But thou art not quickly moved
to strike.
Sampson.
A dog of the house of Montague
moves me.
Gregory.
To move is to stir; and to be
valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved,
thou runn'st away.
Sampson.
A dog of that house shall move
me to stand:
I will take the wall of any man
or maid of Montague's.
Gregory.
That shows thee a weak slave;
for the weakest goes to the
wall.
Sampson.
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.
Gregory.
The quarrel is between our masters
and us their men.
Sampson.
'Tis all one, I will show myself
a tyrant:
when I have fought with the men
I will be cruel with the maids,
I will cut off their heads.
Gregory.
The heads of the maids?
Sampson.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or
their maidenheads;
take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gregory.
They must take it in sense that
feel it.
Sampson.
Me they shall feel while I am
able to stand:
and 'tis known I am a pretty
piece of flesh.
Gregory.
'Tis well thou art not fish;
if thou hadst,
thou hadst been poor-John.--Draw
thy tool;
Here comes two of the house of
Montagues.
Sampson.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel!
I will back thee.
Gregory.
How! turn thy back and run?
Sampson.
Fear me not.
Gregory.
No, marry; I fear thee!
Sampson.
Let us take the law of our sides;
let them begin.
Gregory.
I will frown as I pass by; and
let them take it as they
list.
Sampson.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite
my thumb at them; which is
disgrace to them if they bear
it.
[Enter Abraham and Balthasar.]
Abraham.
Do you bite your thumb at us,
sir?
Sampson.
I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abraham.
Do you bite your thumb at us,
sir?
Sampson.
Is the law of our side if I say
ay?
Gregory.
No.
Sampson.
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb
at you, sir; but I bite my
thumb, sir.
Gregory.
Do you quarrel, sir?
Abraham.
Quarrel, sir! no, sir.
Sampson.
But if you do, sir, am for you:
I serve as good a man as
you.
Abraham.
No better.
Sampson.
Well, sir.
Gregory.
Say better; here comes one of
my master's kinsmen.
Sampson.
Yes, better, sir.
Abraham.
You lie.
Sampson.
Draw, if you be men.--Gregory,
remember thy swashing blow.
[They fight.]
[Enter Benvolio.]
Benvolio.
Part, fools! put up your swords;
you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords.]
[Enter Tybalt.]
Tybalt.
What, art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds?
Turn thee Benvolio, look upon
thy death.
Benvolio.
I do but keep the peace: put
up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men
with me.
Tybalt.
What, drawn, and talk of peace!
I hate the word
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.]
1 Citizen.
Clubs, bills, and partisans!
strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down
with the Montagues!
[Enter Capulet in his gown,
and Lady Capulet.]
Capulet.
What noise is this?--Give me
my long sword, ho!
Lady Capulet.
A crutch, a crutch!--Why call
you for a sword?
Capulet.
My sword, I say!--Old Montague
is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite
of me.
[Enter Montague and his Lady
Montague.]
Montague.
Thou villain Capulet!-- Hold
me not, let me go.
Lady Montague.
Thou shalt not stir one foot
to seek a foe.
[Enter Prince, with Attendants.]
Prince.
Rebellious subjects, enemies
to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained
steel,--
Will they not hear?--What, ho!
you men, you beasts,
That 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 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,
To know our farther 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.]
Montague.
Who set this ancient quarrel
new abroach?--
Speak, nephew, were you by when
it began?
Benvolio.
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
prepar'd;
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.
Lady Montague.
O, where is Romeo?--saw you him
to-day?--
Right glad I am he was not at
this fray.
Benvolio.
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're
most alone,--
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing
his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly
fled from me.
Montague.
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 farthest 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.
Benvolio.
My noble uncle, do you know the
cause?
Montague.
I neither know it nor can learn
of him.
Benvolio.
Have you importun'd him by any
means?
Montague.
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 grow,
We would as willingly give cure
as know.
Benvolio.
See, where he comes: so please
you step aside;
I'll know his grievance or be
much denied.
Montague.
I would thou wert so happy by
thy stay
To hear true shrift.--Come, madam,
let's away,
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.]
[Enter Romeo.]
Benvolio.
Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo.
Is the day so young?
Benvolio.
But new struck nine.
Romeo.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went
hence so fast?
Benvolio.
It was.--What sadness lengthens
Romeo's hours?
Romeo.
Not having that which, having,
makes them short.
Benvolio.
In love?
Romeo.
Out,--
Benvolio.
Of love?
Romeo.
Out of her favour where I am
in love.
Benvolio.
Alas, that love, so gentle in
his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough
in proof!
Romeo.
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!
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?
Benvolio.
No, coz, I rather weep.
Romeo.
Good heart, at what?
Benvolio.
At thy good heart's oppression.
Romeo.
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 shown
Doth add more grief to too much
of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the
fume of sighs;
Being purg'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.
[Going.]
Benvolio.
Soft! I will go along:
An if you leave me so, you do
me wrong.
Romeo.
Tut! I have lost myself; I am
not here:
This is not Romeo, he's some
other where.
Benvolio.
Tell me in sadness who is that
you love?
Romeo.
What, shall I groan and tell
thee?
Benvolio.
Groan! why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo.
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.
Benvolio.
I aim'd so near when I suppos'd
you lov'd.
Romeo.
A right good markman!--And she's
fair I love.
Benvolio.
A right fair mark, fair coz,
is soonest hit.
Romeo.
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's rich in beauty; only
poor
That, when she dies, with beauty
dies her store.
Benvolio.
Then she hath sworn that she
will still live chaste?
Romeo.
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.
Benvolio.
Be rul'd by me, forget to think
of her.
Romeo.
O, teach me how I should forget
to think.
Benvolio.
By giving liberty unto thine
eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Romeo.
'Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question
more:
These happy masks that kiss fair
ladies' brows,
Being black, puts 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.
Benvolio.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else
die in debt.
[Exeunt.]
Scene II. A Street.
[Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.]
Capulet.
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.
Paris.
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?
Capulet.
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.
Paris.
Younger than she are happy mothers
made.
Capulet.
And too soon marr'd 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 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; hear all,
all see,
And like her most whose merit
most shall be:
Which, among 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].
Servant.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.]
Benvolio.
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 languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Romeo.
Your plantain-leaf is excellent
for that.
Benvolio.
For what, I pray thee?
Romeo.
For your broken shin.
Benvolio.
Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Romeo.
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.
Servant.
God gi' go-den.--I pray, sir,
can you read?
Romeo.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Servant.
Perhaps you have learned it without
book:
but I pray, can you read anything
you see?
Romeo.
Ay, If I know the letters and
the language.
Servant.
Ye say honestly: rest you merry!
Romeo.
Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads.]
'Signior Martino and his wife
and daughters;
County Anselmo 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 paper]: whither should they
come?
Servant.
Up.
Romeo.
Whither?
Servant.
To supper; to our house.
Romeo.
Whose house?
Servant.
My master's.
Romeo.
Indeed I should have ask'd you
that before.
Servant.
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.]
Benvolio.
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.
Romeo.
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.
Benvolio.
Tut, you saw her fair, none else
being by,
Herself pois'd 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 best.
Romeo.
I'll go along, no such sight
to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of
my own.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. Room in Capulet's
House.
[Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.]
Lady Capulet.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call
her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now, by my maidenhea,--at twelve
year old,--
I bade her come.--What, lamb!
what ladybird!--
God forbid!--where's this girl?--what,
Juliet!
[Enter Juliet.]
Juliet.
How now, who calls?
Nurse.
Your mother.
Juliet.
Madam, I am here. What is your
will?
Lady Capulet.
This is the matter,--Nurse, give
leave awhile,
We must talk in secret: nurse,
come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou's
hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter's of
a pretty age.
Nurse.
Faith, I can tell her age unto
an hour.
Lady Capulet.
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 Capulet.
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 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 yeas,
I never should forget it; 'Wilt
thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted,
and said 'Ay.'
Lady Capulet.
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 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 com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted,
and said 'Ay.'
Juliet.
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, I have my wish.
Lady Capulet.
Marry, that marry is the very
theme
I came to talk of.--Tell me,
daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to
be married?
Juliet.
It is an honour that I dream
not of.
Nurse.
An honour!--were not I thine
only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck'd
wisdom from thy teat.
Lady Capulet.
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 Capulet.
Verona's summer hath not such
a flower.
Nurse.
Nay, he's a flower, in faith,
a very flower.
Lady Capulet.
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 obscur'd in this fair
volume lies
Find written in the margent 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
Lady Capulet.
Speak briefly, can you like of
Paris' love?
Juliet.
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.]
Servant.
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 Capulet.
We follow thee. [Exit Servant.]--
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.]
Romeo.
What, shall this speech be spoke
for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
Benvolio.
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.
Romeo.
Give me a torch,--I am not for
this ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear
the light.
Mercutio.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have
you dance.
Romeo.
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.
Mercutio.
You are a lover; borrow Cupid's
wings,
And soar with them above a common
bound.
Romeo.
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.
Mercutio.
And, to sink in it, should you
burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender
thing.
Romeo.
Is love a tender thing? it is
too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous; and
it pricks like thorn.
Mercutio.
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 visard for a visard! what care
I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall
blush for me.
Benvolio.
Come, knock and enter; and no
sooner in
But every man betake him to his
legs.
Romeo.
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.
Mercutio.
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.
Romeo.
Nay, that's not so.
Mercutio.
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.
Romeo.
And we mean well, in going to
this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.
Mercutio.
Why, may one ask?
Romeo.
I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mercutio.
And so did I.
Romeo.
Well, what was yours?
Mercutio.
That dreamers often lie.
Romeo.
In bed asleep, while they do
dream things true.
Mercutio.
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 love;
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 are:
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,
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,--
Romeo.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace,
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mercutio.
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.
Benvolio.
This wind you talk of blows us
from ourselves:
Supper is done, and we shall
come too late.
Romeo.
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!
Benvolio.
Strike, drum.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. A Hall in Capulet's
House.
[Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.]
1 Servant.
Where's Potpan, that he helps
not to take away?
he shift a trencher! he scrape
a trencher!
2 Servant.
When good manners shall lie all
in one or two men's
hands, and they unwash'd too,
'tis a foul thing.
1 Servant.
Away with the join-stools, remove
the court-cupboard, look
to the plate:--good thou, save
me a piece of marchpane; and
as
thou loves me, let the porter
let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.--
Antony! and Potpan!
2 Servant.
Ay, boy, ready.
1 Servant.
You are looked for and called
for, asked for
and sought for in the great chamber.
2 Servant.
We cannot be here and there too.--Cheerly,
boys;
be brisk awhile, and the longer
liver take all.
[They retire behind.]
[Enter Capulet, &c.
with the Guests the Maskers.]
Capulet.
Welcome, gentlemen! 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?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen
the day
That I have worn a visard; 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, you 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
yourself and I
Were in a mask?
2 Capulet.
By'r Lady, thirty years.
Capulet.
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 Capulet.
'Tis more, 'tis more: his son
is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.
Capulet.
Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward two years
ago.
Romeo.
What lady is that, which doth
enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
Servant.
I know not, sir.
Romeo.
O, she doth teach the torches
to burn bright!
It seems she 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 blessed
my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear
it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till
this night.
Tybalt.
This, by his voice, should be
a Montague.--
Fetch me my rapier, boy:--what,
dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd 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.
Capulet.
Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore
storm you so?
Tybalt.
Uncle, this is a Montague, our
foe;
A villain, that is hither come
in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this
night.
Capulet.
Young Romeo, is it?
Tybalt.
'Tis he, that villain, Romeo.
Capulet.
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 the 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.
Tybalt.
It fits, when such a villain
is a guest:
I'll not endure him.
Capulet.
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 cock-a-hoop! you'll
be the man!
Tybalt.
Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Capulet.
Go to, go to!
You are a saucy boy. Is't so,
indeed?--
This trick may chance to scathe
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.
Tybalt.
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.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
[To Juliet.] If I profane with
my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,--
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet.
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.
Romeo.
Have not saints lips, and holy
palmers too?
Juliet.
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must
use in prayer.
Romeo.
O, then, dear saint, let lips
do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith
turn to despair.
Juliet.
Saints do not move, though grant
for prayers' sake.
Romeo.
Then move not while my prayer's
effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by thine my
sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her.]
Juliet.
Then have my lips the sin that
they have took.
Romeo.
Sin from my lips? O trespass
sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again.
Juliet.
You kiss by the book.
Nurse.
Madam, your mother craves a word
with you.
Romeo.
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.
Romeo.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my
foe's debt.
Benvolio.
Away, be gone; the sport is at
the best.
Romeo.
Ay, so I fear; the more is my
unrest.
Capulet.
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 Capulet], by
my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.
[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.]
Juliet.
Come hither, nurse. What is yond
gentleman?
Nurse.
The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Juliet.
What's he that now is going out
of door?
Nurse.
Marry, that, I think, be young
Petruchio.
Juliet.
What's he that follows there,
that would not dance?
Nurse.
I know not.
Juliet.
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.
Juliet.
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?
Juliet.
A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal.
[One calls within, 'Juliet.']
Nurse.
Anon, anon!
Come, let's away; the strangers
all are gone.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter Chorus.]
Chorus.
Now old desire doth in his deathbed
lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan'd for, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers us'd to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new beloved anywhere:
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
[Exit.]
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