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Enter JULIET.

Madam, I am here.

Jul. How now! Who calls? Nurse. Your mother. Jul. What is will? your La. Cap. This is the matter. - Nurse, give leave a while,

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We must talk in secret. - Nurse, come back again;

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I have rememb'red me, thou 's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. 10 Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
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?
La. Cap.
A fortnight and odd days. 15
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be four-
teen.

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.
"T is since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd, I never shall forget
it-

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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 wi' the dug!
Shake, quoth the dove-house; 't was no need,
I trow,
To bid me trudge.

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And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand high-lone; 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

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face?

Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;

Wilt thou not, Jule?" and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said, "Ay."
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it. "Wilt thou not,
Jule?" quoth he;

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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 laugh,

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To think it should leave crying and say, "Ay."
And yet, I warrant, it had upon it brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.

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Yea," quoth my husband, "fall'st upon thy face?

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Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to

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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 't is 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. La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of

Paris' love? Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter SERVANT. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper sery'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

(Exit. 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 other Maskers, Torch-bearers. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for

our excuse? Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity. We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; (Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance ;] But let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure and be gone. 10 Rom. Give me a torch. I am not for this

ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we inust 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 20 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. Under love's heavy burden do I sink. Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden

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 reach

with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love

down. Give me a case to put my visage in,

(Puts on a uask. 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 to

sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. À torch for me; let wantons light of

heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heel, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase: I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. Mer. Tut, dun 's the mouse, the constable's

own word. If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the

mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stickest Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, bo! Rom. Nay, that's not so. Mer.

I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, light lights by

day. Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. Rom. And we mean well in going to this

mask; But 't is no wit to go. Mer.

Why, may one ask? . Rom. I dream'd 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. 0, 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 Over men's noses as they lie asleep; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, Her traces of the smallest spider web, Her 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 70 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream

of love; On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies

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,

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Because their breath with sweetmeats tainted
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 he dreams 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 86
Druhs 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, so
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ! 96
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. 105 Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind mis

gives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly beg 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! Ben. Strike, drum. [They march about the stage.

[Ereunt.) [SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house.) (Musicians waiting.) Enter SERVING-MEN, with

napkins. (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 unwash'd too, 't is 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 loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan !

2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready;

(1.) Serv. You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought for, in the great chamber.

3. Serv. We cannot be here and there too.

Cheerly, boys ; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.

[They retire.) 17 Enter (CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his

house, meeting) the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! Ladies that have

their toes Unplagu'd with corns will walk a bout with you. Ah, 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

ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please ; 't is gone, 't is gone, 't is

gone. You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.

[Music plays, and they dance. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. 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. Cap. By 'r lady, thirty years. Cap. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is 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, 't is more. His son is

elder, sir; His son is thirty. Cap.

Will you tell me that ? His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. (To a Serving-man.) What lady's that

which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn

bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As 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, bo
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. Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Mon

tague. 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. Cap. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore

storm you so ?

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Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
A villain that is hither come in spite
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Cap. Young Romeo is it?
Tyb.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
'A 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,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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

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!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 't is a shame.
Cap.

Go to, go to;
You are a saucy boy. Is 't so, indeed ?
This trick may chance to scath you; I know

what. You must contrary me! Marry, 't is 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 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greet

ing: I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitt'rest gall.

(Exit. Rom. (To Juliet.] If I profane with my un

worthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

Tosmooth 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' hands do

touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers

too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in

prayer. Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what

hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to de

spair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for

prayers' sake. Rom. T'hen move not, while my prayer's

effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd.

(Kissing her.)

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that the

have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass steedy

urg'd! Give me my sin again. (Kissing her agais Jul.

You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a Ford Rom. What is her mother? Nurse.

Marry, baebele, 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 witbal; 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, be gone; the sport is at the

best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 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. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest.

(All but Juliet and Nurse begin to Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond geo

tleman ? 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 Petro

chio. 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 Montagne; 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 nov Of one I danc'd witbal.

[One calls within, “Juliet." Nurse.

Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

(Eseunt.

go out.)

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[ACT in
(PROLOGUE)

(Enter) CHORUS. (Chor.] Now old Desire doth in his death-bed 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.

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He is wise; And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall.

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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 "Ay me!' pronounce but " love"

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and 19 dove Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he 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

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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; 't would anger him

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To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 25
Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down.
That were some spite; my invocation
Is fair and honest; in his mistress' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.

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

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To be consorted with the humorous night.
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 35
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
An open et cetera, thou a poperin pear!
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 't is in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.
[Exeunt [Ben. and Mer.].

Mer. If Love be blind, Love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

[SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.
ROMEO advances from the wall.]

Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

[Juliet appears above at her window.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

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.

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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!

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

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As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven 20 Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night.

Jul.

Ay me!

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.

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

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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. [Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

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, 40 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

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