The Dramatic Works of Shakspeare

That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now
shows best.
[shown,
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.

[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Room in Capnlet's House.
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 year old,-
[bird!-

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

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurse. Jul.

Your mother.
Madam, I am here,
What is your will?
[leave awhile,
La. Cap. This is the matter :-Nurse, give
We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back
again;
[counsel.
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an
La. Cap. She's not fourteen. [hour.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen t 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,
[teen.
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 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 suu 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,
To bid
[I trow,
And si
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 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 be:

thy peace.

And, pretty fool, it stinted ¶, and said—Ay.
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold
[but laugh,
To think it should leave crying, and say—Ay:
Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
And yet, I warrant, it had upon it's brow
A parious knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy
jace?
[to age,
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou comest
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said—Ay.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,
say I.
[to his grace
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I naised:
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. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only
nurse,
[teat.
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy
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.
[flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very
La. Cap. 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
To beautify him, only lacks a cover: [lover,
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;

Scarce, hardly. To my sorrow. i. e., I have a perfect remembrance or recollectio
It stopped crying.

The cross.

• Favour.

Holy dame, i. e., the blessed virgin.

+ Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax. The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin. § i. e., is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.

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.
[Paris' love?
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of
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. Cup. We follow thee.-Juliet, the
county stays.
[happy days.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to
[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.
[shoes,
Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing
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 siuk. [love;
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 boist'rous; and it pricks like
thorn.
[with love;
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough|
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love
Give me a case to put my visage in: [down.
[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 T 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:
[mire
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the
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
But 'tis no wit to go.
[mask;
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 true. [with you. Mer. O, then I see queen Mab hath been 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: [legs; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' 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 [straight: On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:

love:

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
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, [tail,
Then dreams he of another benefice:

i. e., Long speeches are out of fashion. + A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten cows.
A dance.
A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers.
It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes.

Observe.

This is equivalent to phrases in common use-1 am done for, it is over with me.

Atoms.

A place in court.

Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of entting 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
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, [two,
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
Making them women of good carriage. [bear,
This, this is she-

Rom.

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer.
True, I tal: 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 auger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from
ourselves;

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, closed in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct iny 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. Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind. Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests and the Maskers.

Cup. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes [you: Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with 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
That I have worn a visor; and could tell [day,
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, [gone:
Such as would please; 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musi-
cians 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 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 Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years. 1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, [so much: Come pentecost as quickly as it will, [mask'd. Some five and twenty years; and then we 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, His son is thirty. [sir: 1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich Of yonder knight?

[the hand Serv. I know not, sir. [bright! Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn 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, [stand, The measure done, I'll watch her place of 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 Mon

tague:[slave Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the 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. 1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsinan? wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this 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
He bears bim like a portly gentleman; [alone,
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,
And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. fits, when such a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.

• i. e., Fairy-locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night. A cupboard set in a corner like a beaufet on which the plate was placed.

i. c., Make room.

An Ethiopian, a black.

+ Almond-cake The dance.

1 Cap.

He shall be endured;

Rom.

Is she a Capulet?

What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall;-Go O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

You must contrary me! marry, 'tis timeWell said, my hearts:-You are a princoxt; go:[shame!

Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts. [meeting,

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

[Exit. Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand [TO JULIET. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. [too much, Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand 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? [prayer. Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; [despair. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. [effect I take. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. (Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. [urged! Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again. Jul. You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word Rom. What is her mother? [with you. Nurse. Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you,-he, that can lay hold of her, Shall have the chinks.

Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the

gentleman?

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? [truchio. Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Pe Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would Nurse. I know not. [not dance? 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.

[hate! Jul. My only love sprung from my only 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? Jul.

A. rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I danced withal.

[One calls within, JULIET. Nurse. Anon, anonCome, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt. Enter CHORUS.

Now old Desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young Affection gapes to be his heir; That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die,

With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe supposed 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 use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet,

Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.

[Exit.

• Do you au injury.

† A coxcomb.

A collation of fruit, wine, &c.

§ Faith,

ACT II.

SCENE I. An open Place, adjoining Capu- | But, soft! what light through yonder window

let's Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin, Romeo!
Mer.
He is wise;
And, on my sife, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard
Call, good Mercutio.
[wall:
Mer.
Nay, I'll conjure too.-
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick name for her purbiind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua loved the beggar-
maid t.-

He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.-
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering
thigh,

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle [him
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjured it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

[trees,

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the Now will he sit under a medlar tree, [mark. And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.

Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Capulet's Garden.

2. e., Himself.

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-[breaks !
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid |, since she is envious:
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady: O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!-
[that?
She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.—
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame
those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not
night.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Ah me!

Jul. Rom.

She speaks :O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him. When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. [Romeo? Jul. O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at

this?

[Aside.

Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes¶, Without that title.-Romeo, doff ** thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself. Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Rome. Jul. What man art thou that, thus be screen'd in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

+ Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar. in Shakspeare's time, was used as an expression of tenderness. A votary to the moon, to Diana. Owns, possesses.

By a name

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