The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

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, au 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

Jaugh,

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, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 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,

brief ;

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such 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 flower.

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 obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes. ¶
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the sea; ** and 'tis much pride,

For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps cks 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

meu.

• The cross. Holy dame, i e. the blessed virgin. tIt stopped crying, 6 Favour. As well made as if he had been modelled in wax. The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.

1. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking I king 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, yon 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. Cap. We follow thee.-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, Toren-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.

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 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.

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 boist'rous; and it pricks like

thorn.

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 tive wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

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.

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 wat'ry beams :
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash of film :
Her waggoner, a small grey-ccated 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 love :

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.

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
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 foui sluggish hairs,
Which, ouce untanlged, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learus them first to
bear,

Making them women of good carriage.
This, this is she-

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;

Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. 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;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind mis-

gives

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,

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 sciape 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.

day,

That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please ;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
gone :
[play.
You are welcome, gentlemen !-Come, musicians,
A ball! 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
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 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, His son is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

[Sir:

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the

A cupboard set in a corner like a beaufet on which the plate was placed.

Almond-cake.

An Ethiopian.

A clear hall, or make room.
The dance.

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 Montague :[slave Fetch me ny 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 kinsmau ? 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 Cup. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 Cap. 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 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 seinblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him.

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd: [to ;What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall;-Go Am I the master here, or you? go to. [soulYou'll not endure him!-God shall mend my You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man ! Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap. Go to, go to,

You are saucy, boy ;-Is't so, indeed?- [what.
This trick may chance to scath you ;-I know
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.

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, [ing. Makes my flesh tremble in their different greetI 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.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' bands do touch,

Aud palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers

too?

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word
with you.

Rom. 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.

Rom. Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 1 Cap. 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. [late; Ah, Sirrab, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes I'll to my rest.

[Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is you gentleman ?

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Pe

truchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

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.

Jul. 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?
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal.

[One calls within, Juliet f Nurse. Anon, anon :Come, 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 belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, Aud she steals 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.

ACT II.

[Exit.

Enter BENVOLIO, and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mer. He is wise;

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard
wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

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 purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggarmaid. —
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.

[him

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjur'd 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.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees,

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

mark.

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-
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 !

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
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!

Alluding to the old ballad of the King and the Beggar. This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness. 1 Humid. Avotary to the moon, to Diana.

O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!

Jul. Ah me!

Rom. She speaks:

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.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Romeo?

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 baptiz'd:
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

Rom. By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am;
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;

Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred
words

Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the

sound:

their sight;

And, but thou love me, § let them find me here :
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this
place?

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in-
quire;

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I am no pilot: yet, wert thou as far
I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my

face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,

For that which thou hast heard me speak to

night.

Fain would I dwell on form; fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; But farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say
Ay;

And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo: but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour
light:

But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be
strange.
[fess,
I should have been more strange, I must con-
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me ;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,-— Jul. O swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

'That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by ?

Jul. Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

Rom. If my heart's dear love

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract to-night :
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good
night!

This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

Good night, good night! as sweet repose and

rest

Come to thy heart, as that within my breast! Rom. O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;

And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

Jul. But to be frank,+ and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. [NURSE calls within. I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.

Rom. O blessed blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the

world:

J. e. More artfully assume coldness. † Free. 1 luclination.

Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. By and by, I come :

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul,

Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse to want thy

light.

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books;

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly.

Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist !-O for a falconer's voice,

To lure this tassel-gentle ⚫ back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than
mine

With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name : How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My sweet!

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

Rom. At the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember

it.

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,

Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still
forget

Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee

gone:

And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, +
And with a silk thread plucks it black again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would I:

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,

That I shall say-good night, till it be morrow. [Exit,

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in

thy breast!'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will 1 to my ghostly father's cell: His help to crave, and my dear hap† to tell. [Exit.

SCENE III.-Friar LAURENCE's Cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE, with a Basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, [light; Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels:

Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this osier cage of ours,
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare, المجلد 10