Imatges de pÓgina
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If she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent, and fair according voice:
This night, I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love, and you among the store,
One more (most welcome!) makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night,
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light,
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel,
When well-apparell d April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among freíh 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 reck’ning none.
Come go with me.

with me. 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 ftay.

[Exeunt Cap. and Par. Ser. Find them out whose names are written here? It is written, that the shooe-maker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his

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.
Ben. Tut man, one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy and be help'd by backward turning,
One desperate grief cure with another's languish:

Take

nets.

your broken shin.

Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom. For
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is :
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipt and tormented; and --- Good-e'en, good fellow. (To the ser.

Ser. God gi' good-e’en: I pray, Sir, can you read ?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry.
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.

[He reads the letter.]
Ignior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count Anselm

and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signor Placentino, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rosaline, Livio, fignior Valento, and his cousin Tibalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; whither should they come ?

Ser. Up
Rom. Whither ? to supper ?
Ser. To our house.
Rom. Whose house?
Ser. My master's.
Rom. Indeed I should have askt you that before.
Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master 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.

S

Ben. At this fame ancient feast of Capulets,
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovst;
With all th' 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.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these who often drown'd could never die,

Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing sun
Ne’er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Her self pois’d with her self in either eye:
But in those chrystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will shew you, shining at this feast,
And she will shew scant well, that now shews best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such fight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

SC EN E IV.

Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.
TURSEwhere's

La. Cap. NUR SE..where's my daughter ? call her forth

Nurse. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve years old) i bad her come; what lamb, what lady-bird, god forbid - where's this girN: what, Juliet ?

Enter

Enter Juliet.

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Jul, How now, who calls :
Nurfe. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here, what is your will?

La. Cap. This is the matter - Nurse, give leave a while, we must talk in secret; nurse come back again, I have remembred me, thou shalt hear my counsel: thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse, Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.
Le. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll ļay fourteen of my teeth, and yet to my teeth be it spoken, I have bur four, she's not four-teen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide ?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. Nurse.' Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammaseve 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 'Thall she be fourreen, that shall she, marry, I remember it well.

'Tis since the earthquake pov eleven years, and she was wean’d, ' I

I never shall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that

day; for I had then laid worm-wood to my dug, sitting in the < sun under the dove-house wall, my lord and you were then af (Mantua

---- Day, I do bear a brain. But as I said, when it • did taste the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it 'bitter, pretty fool, to see it teachy, and fall out with the dug. ' Shake, quoth the dove-house --'twas no need I trow to bid

me trudge; and since that time it is eleven years, for then she • could stand alone, nay, by th’ rood she could have run, and ' wadled all about ; for even the day before the 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 Vol. VI. K k.

thy or, teen, as in the old edition.

thy face? thou will fall backward when thou hast more wit, ( wilt thou not, Julé? and by my holy-dam, the pretty wrecch ' left crying, and said, ay; To fee now how a jest shall come I about. I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never • should forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé, 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 chuse but laugh, to think it should leave crying, and say, ay; and yet I warrant it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's stone: a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fallst upon thy face ? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; wilt thou not, Julé? it stinted, and said, ay.

Jul. And stint thee 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 nurst.
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have

my

wish.
La. Cap. d And that same marriage is the very cheam
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 hadft 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 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,

+ This speech and tautology is not in the first edition, d Marry, that marry is the very theam. .

e hour.

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