Romeo and Juliet

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Original text
Act I, Scene I
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers,
of the House of Capulet.

Sampson.
GRegory: A my word wee'l not carry coales.

Greg.
No, for then we should be Colliars.

Samp.
I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw.

Greg.
I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar.

Samp.
I strike quickly, being mou'd.

Greg.
But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike.

Samp.
A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me.

Greg.
To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand:
Therefore, if thou art mou'd, thou runst away.

Samp.
A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand. I
will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues.

Greg.
That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest
goes to the wall.

Samp.
True, and therefore women being the
weaker Vessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I
will push Mountagues men from the wall, and thrust his
Maides to the wall.

Greg.
The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs
their men.

Samp.
'Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: when
I haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with the
Maids, and cut off their heads.

Greg.
The heads of the Maids?

Sam.
I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads,
Take it in what sence thou wilt.

Greg.
They must take it sence, that feele it.

Samp.
Me they shall feele while I am able to stand: And
'tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh.

Greg.
'Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had'st, thou
had'st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of
the House of the Mountagues.
Enter two other Seruingmen.

Sam.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back
thee

Gre.
How? Turne thy backe, and run.

Sam.
Feare me not.

Gre.
No marry: I feare thee.

Sam.
Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them
begin.

Gr.
I wil frown as I passe by, & let thẽ take it as
they list

Sam.
Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them,
which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it.

Abra.
Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir?

Samp.
I do bite my Thumbe, sir.

Abra.
Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir?

Sam.
Is the Law of our side, if I say
I?

Gre.
No.

Sam,
No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: but
I bite my Thumbe sir.

Greg.
Do you quarrell sir?

Abra.
Quarrell sir? no sir.

Sam.
If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good
a man as you

Abra.
No better?

Samp.
Well sir.
Enter Benuolio.

Gr.
Say better: here comes one
of my masters kinsmen.

Samp.
Yes, better.

Abra.
You Lye.

Samp.
Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy
washing blow.
They Fight.

Ben.
Part Fooles,
put vp your Swords, you know not what you do.
Enter Tibalt.

Tyb.
What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse / Hindes?
Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death.

Ben.
I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb.
What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee:
Haue at thee Coward.
Fight.
Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs.

Offi.
Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them
down / Downe with the Capulets, downe with the
Mountagues.
Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife.

Cap.
What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho.

Wife.
A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword?
Enter old Mountague, & his wife.

Cap.
My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his Blade in spight of me.

Moun.
Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go

2. Wife.
Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe.
Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.

Prince.
Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele,
Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage,
With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines:
On paine of Torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground,
And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince.
Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word,
By thee old Capulet and Mountague,
Haue thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient Citizens
Cast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments,
To wield old Partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate,
If euer you disturbe our streets againe,
Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:
You Capulet shall goe along with me,
And Mountague come you this afternoone,
To know our Fathers pleasure in this case:
To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place:
Once more on paine of death, all men depart.
Exeunt.

Moun.
Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach?
Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began:

Ben.
Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie,
And yours close fighting ere I did approach,
I drew to part them, in the instant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares,
He swong about his head, and cut the windes,
Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne.
While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

Wife.
O where is Romeo, saw you him to day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben.
Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad,
Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour,
That West-ward rooteth from this City side:
So earely walking did I see your Sonne:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And stole into the couert of the wood,
I measuring his affections by my owne,
Which then most sought, wher most might not be found:
Being one too many by my weary selfe,
Pursued my Honour, not pursuing his
And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me.

Mount.
Many a morning hath he there beene seene,
With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw,
Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes,
But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne,
Should in the farthest East begin to draw
The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed,
Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne,
And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe,
Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out,
And makes himselfe an artificiall night:
Blacke and portendous must this humour proue,
Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue.

Ben.
My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause?

Moun.
I neither know it, nor can learne of him.

Ben.
Haue you importun'd him by any meanes?

Moun.
Both by my selfe and many others Friends,
But he his owne affections counseller,
Is to himselfe (I will not say how true)
But to himselfe so secret and so close,
So farre from sounding and discouery,
As is the bud bit with an enuious worme,
Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre,
Or dedicate his beauty to the same.
Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow,
We would as willingly giue cure, as know.
Enter Romeo.

Be.n
See where he comes, so please you step aside,
Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide.

Moun.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.
Exeunt.

Ben.
Good morrow Cousin.

Rom.
Is the day so young?

Ben.
But new strooke nine.

Rom.
Aye me, sad houres seeme long:
Was that my Father that went hence so fast?

Ben.
It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres?

Ro.
Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short

Ben.
In loue.

Romeo.
Out.

Ben.
Of loue.

Rom.
Out of her fauour where I am in loue.

Ben.
Alas that loue so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe.

Rom.
Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will:
Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere?
Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all:
Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue:
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate,
O any thing, of nothing first created:
O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,
Mishapen Chaos of welseeing formes,
Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is:
This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this.
Doest thou not laugh?

Ben.
No Coze, I rather weepe.

Rom.
Good heart, at what?

Ben.
At thy good hearts oppression.

Rom.
Why such is loues transgression.
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast
With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,
Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne.
Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes,
Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares,
What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet:
Farewell my Coze.

Ben.
Soft I will goe along.
And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong.

Rom.
Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, hee's some other where.

Ben.
Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue?

Rom.
What shall I grone and tell thee?

Ben.
Grone, why no:
but sadly tell me who.

Rom.
A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will:
A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill:
In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman.

Ben.
I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd.

Rom.
A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue

Ben.
A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit.

Rom.
Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit
With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:
And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd:
From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd.
Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes,
Nor bid th'incounter of assailing eyes.
Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold:
O she is rich in beautie, onely poore,
That when she dies, with beautie dies her store.

Ben.
Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast?

Rom.
She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast?
For beauty steru'd with her seuerity,
Cuts beauty off from all posteritie.
She is too faire, too wisewi: sely too faire,
To merit blisse by making me dispaire:
She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow
Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now.

Ben.
Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her.

Rom.
O teach me how I should forget to thinke.

Ben.
By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes,
Examine other beauties,

Ro.
'Tis the way
to cal hers (exquisit) in question more,
These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes,
Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire:
He that is strooken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost:
Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire,
What doth her beauty serue but as a note,
Where I may read who past that passing faire.
Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget,

Ben.
Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Exeunt
Original text
Act I, Scene II
Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.

Capu.
Mountague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I thinke,
For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace.

Par.
Of Honourable reckoning are you both,
And pittie 'tis you liu'd at ods so long:
But now my Lord, what say you to my sute?

Capu.
But saying ore what I haue said before,
My Child is yet a stranger in the world,
Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares,
Let two more Summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride.

Pari.
Younger then she, are happy mothers made.

Capu.
And too soone mar'd are those so early made:
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,
Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth:
But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent, is but a part,
And shee agree, within her scope of choise,
Lyes my consent, and faire according voice:
This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast,
Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest,
Such as I loue, and you among the store,
One more, most welcome makes my number more:
At my poore house, looke to behold this night,
Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light,
Such comfort as do lusty young men feele,
When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heele
Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight
Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house: heare all, all see:
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckning none.
Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about,
Through faire Verona, find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay.
Exit.

Ser.
Find them out whose names are written. Heere it
is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his
Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill,
and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those
persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find
what names the writing person hath here writ (I must
to the learned) in good time.
Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.

Ben.
Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning,
One paine is lesned by anothers anguish:
Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning:
One desparate greefe, cures with anothers lauguish:
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poyson of the old wil die.

Rom.
Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that.

Ben.
For what I pray thee?

Rom.
For your broken shin.

Ben.
Why Romeo art thou mad?

Rom.
Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is:
Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,
Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow,

Ser.
Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read?

Rom.
I mine owne fortune in my miserie.

Ser.
Perhaps you haue learn'd it without booke:
But I pray can you read any thing you see?

Rom.
I, if I know the Letters and the Language.

Ser.
Ye say honestly, rest you merry.

Rom.
Stay fellow, I can read.
He reades the Letter.
SEigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme
and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio,
Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his
brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters:
my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, &
his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena.
A faire assembly, whither should they come?

Ser.
Vp.

Rom.
Whither? to supper?

Ser.
To our house.

Rom.
Whose house?

Ser.
My Maisters.

Rom.
Indeed I should haue askt you that before.

Ser.
Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is
the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of
Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest
you merry.
Exit.

Ben.
At this same auncient Feast of Capulets
Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues:
With all the admired Beauties of Verona,
Go thither and with vnattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow.

Rom.
When the deuout religion of mine eye
Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire:
And these who often drown'd could neuer die,
Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers.
One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun
Nere saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben.
Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by,
Herselfe poys'd with herselfe in either eye:
But in that Christall scales, let there be waid,
Your Ladies loue against some other Maid
That I will show you, shining at this Feast,
And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best.

Rom.
Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne,
But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.
Original text
Act I, Scene III
Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.

Wife
Nurse wher's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse.
Now by my Maidenhead, at twelue yeare old
I bad her come, what Lamb: what Ladi-bird,
God forbid, / Where's this Girle? what Iuliet?
Enter Iuliet.

Iuliet.
How now, who calls?

Nur.
Your Mother.

Iuliet.
Madam I am heere, what is your will?

Wife.
This is the matter: Nurse giue leaue awhile,
we must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe,
I haue remembred me, thou'se heare our counsell.
Thou knowest my daughter's of a prety age.

Nurse.
Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre.

Wife.
Shee's not fourteene.

Nurse.
Ile lay fourteene of my teeth,
And yet to my teene be it spoken, / I haue but foure,
shee's not fourteene. / How long is it now
to Lammas tide?

Wife.
A fortnight and odde dayes.

Nurse.
Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare
come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene.
Susan & she, God rest all Christian soules,
were of an age. Well Susan is with God,
she was too good for me. But as I said,
on Lamas Eue at night shall she be fourteene,
that shall she marie, I remember it well.
'Tis since the Earth-quake now eleuen yeares,
and she was wean'd I neuer shall forget it,
of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day:
for I had then laid Worme-wood to my Dug
sitting in the Sunne vnder the Douehouse wall,
my Lord and you were then at Mantua,
nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said,
when it did tast the Worme-wood on the nipple
of my Dugge, and felt it bitter, pretty foole,
to see it teachie, and fall out with the Dugge,
Shake quoth the Doue-house, 'twas no neede I trow
to bid mee trudge:
and since that time it is a eleuen yeares,
for then she could stand alone, nay bi'th' roode
she could haue runne, & wadled all about:
for euen the day before she broke her brow,
& then my Husband God be with his soule,
a was a merrie man, tooke vp the Child,
yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face?
thou wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit,
wilt thou not Iule? And by my holy-dam,
the pretty wretch lefte crying, & said I:
to see now how a Iest shall come about.
I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares,
I neuer should forget it: wilt thou not Iulet quoth he?
and pretty foole it stinted, and said I.

Old La.
Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace.

Nurse.
Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh,
to thinke it should leaue crying, & say I:
and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow,
a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels stone?
A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly.
Yea quoth my husband, fall'st vpon thy face,
thou wilt fall backward when thou commest to age:
wilt thou not Iule? It stinted: and said I.

Iule.
And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I.

Nur.
Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace
thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst,
and I might liue to see thee married once,
I haue my wish.

Old La.
Marry that marry is the very theame
I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet,
How stands your disposition to be Married?

Iuli.
It is an houre that I dreame not of.

Nur.
An houre, were not I thine onely Nurse,
I would say thou had'st suckt wisedome from thy teat.

Old La.
Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you
Heere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme,
Are made already Mothers. By my count
I was your Mother, much vpon these yeares
That you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe:
The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue.

Nurse.
A man young Lady, Lady, such a man
as all the world. Why hee's a man of waxe.

Old La.
Veronas Summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse.
Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower.

Old La:
What say you, can you loue the Gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our Feast,
Read ore the volume of young Paris face,
And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen:
Examine euery seuerall liniament,
And see how one another lends content:
And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies,
Find written in the Margent of his eyes.
This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer,
To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer.
The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much pride
For faire without, the faire within to hide:
That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie,
That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie:
So shall you share all that he doth possesse,
By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse.

Nurse.
No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men.

Old La.
Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue?

Iuli.
Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue.
But no more deepe will I endart mine eye,
Then your consent giues strength to make flye.
Enter a Seruing man.

Ser.
Madam, the guests are come, supper seru'd
vp, you cal'd, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse
cur'st in the Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I
must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.

Mo.
We follow thee,
Exit.
Iuliet, the Countie staies.

Nurse.
Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act I, Scene IV
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe
other Maskers, Torch-bearers.

Rom.
What shall this speeh be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apologie?

Ben.
The date is out of such prolixitie,
Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe,
Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath,
Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper.
But let them measure vs by what they will,
Weele measure them a Measure, and be gone.

Rom.
Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling.
Being but heauy I will beare the light.

Mer.
Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance.

Rom.
Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes
With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue.

Mer.
You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings,
And soare with them aboue a common bound.

Rom.
I am too sore enpearced with his shaft,
To soare with his light feathers, and to bound:
I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe,
Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke.

Hora.
And to sinke in it should you burthen loue,
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom.
Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne.

Mer.
If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue,
Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe,
Giue me a Case to put my visage in,
A Visor for a Visor, what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities:
Here are the Beetle-browes shall blush for me.

Ben.
Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in,
But euery man betake him to his legs.

Rom.
A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart
Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles:
For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase,
Ile be a Candle-holder and looke on,
The game was nere so faire, and I am done.

Mer.
Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word,
If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire.
Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest
Vp to the eares, come we burne day-light ho.

Rom.
Nay that's not so.

Mer.
I meane sir I delay,
We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day;
Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits
Fiue times in that, ere once in our fine wits.

Rom.
And we meane well in going to this Maske,
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer.
Why may one aske?

Rom.
I dreampt a dreame to night.

Mer.
And so did I.

Rom.
Well what was yours?

Mer.
That dreamers often lye.

Ro.
In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true.

Mer.
O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you:
She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes
in shape no bigger then Agat-stone,
on the fore-finger of an Alderman,
drawne with a teeme of little Atomies,
ouer mens noses as they lie asleepe:
Her Chariot is an emptie Haselnut,
made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub,
time out a mind, the Faries Coach-makers:
her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners legs:
the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers,
her Traces of the smallest Spiders web,
her coullers of the Moonshines watry Beames,
her Whip of Crickets bone, the Lash of Philome,
her Waggoner, a small gray-coated Gnat,
not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme,
prickt from the Lazie-finger of a man.
& in this state she gallops night by night,
through Louers braines: and then they dreame of Loue.
On Courtiers knees, that dreame on Cursies strait:
ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreamt on Fees,
ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame,
which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
because their breath with Sweet meats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose,
& then dreames he of smelling out a sute:
& somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale,
tickling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe,
then he dreames of another Benefice.
Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers necke,
& then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats,
of Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades:
Of Healths fiue Fadome deepe, and then anon
drums in his eares, at which he startes and wakes;
and being thus frighted, sweares a prayer or two
& sleepes againe: this is that very Mab
that plats the manes of Horses in the night:
& bakes the Elk-locks in foule sluttish haires,
which once vntangled, much misfortune bodes,
This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learnes them first to beare,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she.

Rom.
Peace, peace, Mercutio peace,
Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer.
True, I talke of dreames:
Which are the children of an idle braine,
Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the ayre,
And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes
Euen now the frozen bosome of the North:
And being anger'd, puffes away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew dropping South.

Ben.
This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues,
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom.
I feare too early, for my mind misgiues,
Some consequence yet hanging in the starres,
Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date
With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme
Of a despised life clos'd in my brest:
By some vile forfeit of vntimely death.
But he that hath the stirrage of my course,
Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen.

Ben.
Strike Drum.
Original text
Act I, Scene V
They march about the Stage, and Seruingmen come
forth with their napkins. Enter Seruant.

Ser.
Where's Potpan, that he helpes not
to take away? He shift a Trencher? he scrape a Trencher?

1.
When good manners, shall lie
in one or two mens hands, and they vnwasht too, 'tis
a foule thing.

Ser.
Away with the Ioynstooles, remoue
the Court-cubbord, looke to the Plate: good thou, saue
mee a piece of Marchpane, and as thou louest me, let the
Porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell,
Anthonie and Potpan.

2.
I Boy readie.

Ser.
You are lookt for, and cal'd for,
askt for, & sought for, in the great Chamber.

1
We cannot be here and there too,
chearly Boyes, / Be brisk awhile, and the longer liuer
take all.
Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Gentlewomen
to the Maskers.

1. Capu.
Welcome Gentlemen, / Ladies that haue their toes
Vnplagu'd with Cornes, will walke about with you:
Ah my Mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
She Ile sweare hath Cornes: am I come neare ye now?
Welcome Gentlemen, I haue seene the day
That I haue worne a Visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare:
Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone,
You are welcome Gentlemen, come Musitians play:
Musicke plaies: and the dance.
A Hall, Hall, giue roome, and foote it Girles,
More light you knaues, and turne the Tables vp:
And quench the fire, the Roome is growne too hot.
Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well:
Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dauncing daies:
How long 'ist now since last your selfe and I
Were in a Maske?

2. Capu.
Berlady thirty yeares.

1. Capu.
What man: 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much,
'Tis since the Nuptiall of Lucentio,
Come Pentycost as quickely as it will,
Some fiue and twenty yeares, and then we Maskt.

2. Cap.
'Tis more, 'tis more, his Sonne is elder sir:
His Sonne is thirty.

3. Cap.
Will you tell me that?
His Sonne was but a Ward two yeares agoe.

Rom.
What Ladie is that which doth inrich the hand
Of yonder Knight?

Ser.
I know not sir.

Rom.
O she doth teach the Torches to burne bright:
It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night,
As a rich Iewel in an Athiops eare:
Beauty too rich for vse, for earth too deare:
So shewes a Snowy Doue trooping with Crowes,
As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes;
The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart loue till now, forsweare it sight,
For I neuer saw true Beauty till this night.

Tib.
This by his voice, should be a Mountague.
Fetch me my Rapier Boy, what dares the slaue
Come hither couer'd with an antique face,
To fleere and scorne at our Solemnitie?
Now by the stocke and Honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap.
Why how now kinsman, / Wherefore storme you so?

Tib.
Vncle this is a Mountague, our foe:
A Villaine that is hither come in spight,
To scorne at our Solemnitie this night.

Cap.
Young Romeo is it?

Tib.
'Tis he, that Villaine Romeo.

Cap.
Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone,
A beares him like a portly Gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a vertuous and well gouern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all the towne,
Here in my house do him disparagement:
Therfore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes,
An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast.

Tib.
It fits when such a Villaine is a guest,
Ile not endure him.

Cap.
He shall be endu'rd.
What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too,
Am I the Maister here or you? go too,
Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule,
Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests:
You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man.

Tib.
Why Vncle, 'tis a shame.

Cap.
Go too, go too,
You are a sawcy Boy, 'ist so indeed?
This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what,
You must contrary me, marry 'tis time.
Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe,
Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame,
Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts.

Tib.
Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting:
I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall.
Exit.

Rom.
If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand,
To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse.

Iul.
Good Pilgrime, You do wrong your hand too much.
Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this,
For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch,
And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse.

Rom.
Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too?

Iul.
I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer.

Rom.
O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do,
They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire.

Iul.
Saints do not moue, / Though grant for prayers sake.

Rom.
Then moue not while my prayers effect I take:

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

Iul.
Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke.

Rom.
Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd:
Giue me my sin againe.

Iul.
You kisse by'th'booke.

Nur.
Madam your Mother craues a word with you.

Rom.
What is her Mother?

Nurs.
Marrie Batcheler,
Her Mother is the Lady of the house,
And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous,
I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall haue the chincks.

Rom.
Is she a Capulet?
O deare account! My life is my foes debt.

Ben.
Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.

Rom.
I so I feare, the more is my vnrest.

Cap.
Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards:
Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night:
More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest.

Iuli.
Come hither Nurse, / What is yond Gentleman:

Nur.
The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio.

Iuli.
What's he that now is going out of doore?

Nur.
Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio.

Iul.
What's he that follows here that would not dance?

Nur.
I know not.

Iul.
Go aske his name: if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedded bed.

Nur.
His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely Sonne of your great Enemie.

Iul.
My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,
Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me,
That I must loue a loathed Enemie.

Nur.
What's this? whats this?

Iul.
A rime, I learne euen now
Of one I dan'st withall.
One cals within, Iuliet.

Nur.
Anon, anon:
Come let's away, the strangers all are gone.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act I, Scene I
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with swords and bucklers,
of the house of Capulet

SAMPSON
Gregory, on 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 of 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 runnest 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
'Tis 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 of
the house of Montagues.
Enter Abram and another Servingman

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.

ABRAM
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON
I do bite my thumb, sir.

ABRAM
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON
(aside to Gregory)
Is the law of our side, if I say
‘ Ay ’?

GREGORY
(aside to Sampson)
No.

SAMPSON
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But
I bite my thumb, sir.

GREGORY
Do you quarrel, sir?

ABRAM
Quarrel, sir? No, sir.

SAMPSON
If you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good
a man as you.

ABRAM
No better.

SAMPSON
Well, sir.
Enter Benvolio

GREGORY
(aside to Sampson)
Say ‘ better.’ Here comes one
of my master's kinsmen.

SAMPSON
Yes, better, sir.

ABRAM
You lie.

SAMPSON
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy
washing blow.
They fight

BENVOLIO
Part, fools!
Put up your swords. You know not what you do.
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 three or four Citizens with clubs or partisans

CITIZENS
Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! Beat them
down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the
Montagues!
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and his wife

CAPULET
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!

LADY CAPULET
A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
Enter old Montague and his wife

CAPULET
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

MONTAGUE
Thou villain Capulet! – Hold me not. Let me go.

LADY MONTAGUE
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince Escalus, with his train

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 mistempered 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 disturbed 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,
Cankered with peace, to part your cankered 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 judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
Exeunt all but Montague, his wife, and Benvolio

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 prepared;
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, hissed 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 today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

BENVOLIO
Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind drive me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city 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,
Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Being one to many by my weary self,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunned 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 importuned 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.
Enter Romeo

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 wife

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,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love 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 pressed
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

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 urged to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

BENVOLIO
I aimed so near when I supposed you loved.

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 armed,
From love's weak childish bow she lives uncharmed.
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 is 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, starved with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

BENVOLIO
Be ruled 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, put 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 passed that passing fair?
Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.

BENVOLIO
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene II
Enter Capulet, County Paris, and the Clown, a
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 lived 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 marred are those so early made.
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
She's the hopeful lady of my earth.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.
My will to her consent is but a part,
And, she agreed, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house. Hear all; all see;
And like her most whose merit most shall be;
Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me. (To Servant) Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, 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 lessened 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,
Whipped and tormented and – Good-e'en, good fellow.

SERVANT
God gi' good-e'en. 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.
He reads the letter
Signor Martino and his wife and daughters. County Anselm
and his beauteous sisters. The lady widow of Utruvio.
Signor Placentio and his lovely nieces. Mercutio and his
brother Valentine. Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters.
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia. Signor Valentio and
his cousin Tybalt. Lucio and the lively Helena.
A fair assembly. Whither should they come?

SERVANT
Up.

ROMEO
Whither? To supper?

SERVANT
To our house.

ROMEO
Whose house?

SERVANT
My master's.

ROMEO
Indeed I should have asked thee 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 Servant

BENVOLIO
At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves,
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 drowned, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

BENVOLIO
Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself in either eye.
But in that crystal scales let there be weighed
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 seems best.

ROMEO
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene III
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse

LADY CAPULET
Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.

NURSE
Now, by my maidenhead 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 remembered 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 Lammastide?

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 weaned – I never shall forget it –
Of all the days of the year, upon that day.
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.
My lord and you were then at Mantua.
Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy and fall out wi' th' dug!
Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years.
For then she could stand high-lone. Nay, by th' 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 holidam,
The pretty wretch left crying and said ‘ Ay.’
To see now how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it. ‘ Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he,
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ‘ Ay.’

LADY 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 it brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone,
A perilous knock. And it cried bitterly.
‘ Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘ fallest upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest 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 nursed.
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 dispositions 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 sucked 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 obscured 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 Servingman

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 Servingman
Juliet, the County stays.

NURSE
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene IV
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six
other maskers, and torchbearers

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 hoodwinked with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance.
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure and be gone.

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 empierced 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.
A visor for a visor! 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 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.

MERCUTIO
Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word!
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of – save your reverence – love, wherein thou stickest
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 judgement sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

ROMEO
And we mean well in going to this masque,
But 'tis no wit to go.

MERCUTIO
Why, may one ask?

ROMEO
I dreamt a dream tonight.

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 forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
Her wagon 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 wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
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 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,
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 he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck;
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, 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 plaits 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 talkest 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 woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the North,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side 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, closed 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.
Modern text
Act I, Scene V
They march about the stage; and Servingmen come
forth with napkins

FIRST SERVINGMAN
Where's Potpan, that he helps not
to take away? He shift a trencher? He scrape a trencher!

SECOND SERVINGMAN
When good manners shall lie all
in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis
a foul thing.

FIRST SERVINGMAN
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.
Exit Second Servingmen
Anthony, and Potpan!
Enter two more Servingmen

THIRD SERVINGMAN
Ay, boy, ready.

FIRST SERVINGMAN
You are looked for and called for,
asked for and sought for, in the Great Chamber.

FOURTH SERVINGMAN
We cannot be here and there too.
Cheerly, boys! Be brisk a while, and the longer liver
take all.
Exeunt Third and Fourth Servingmen
Enter Capulet, his wife, Juliet, Tybalt, Nurse, and all
the guests and gentlewomen to the maskers

CAPULET
Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes
Unplagued 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. 'Tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis 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 unlooked-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?

COUSIN 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 masked.

COUSIN 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
(to Servingman)
What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?

SERVINGMAN
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, covered 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.
'A bears him like a portly gentleman.
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous and well-governed 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.

TYBALT
It fits when such a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

CAPULET
He shall be endured.
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 bitterest gall.
Exit Tybalt

ROMEO
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin 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.
He kisses her
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged.

JULIET
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
He kisses her

JULIET
You kiss by th' 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 nursed her daughter that you talked 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.
They whisper in his ear
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.
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 here, 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 learnt even now
Of one I danced withal.
One calls within: ‘ Juliet ’

NURSE
Anon, anon!
Come, let's away. The strangers all are gone.
Exeunt
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