Imatges de pÓgina
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Scalus, Prince of Verona.

Paris, a young Nobleman in Love with Juliet, and Kinfman to the Prince.

Mountague, Two Lords of antient Families, Enemies to each other.

Capulet, '}

Romeo, Son to Mountague.

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Mercutio, Kinfman to the Prince, and Friend to
Romeo.

Benvolio, Kinfman and Friend to Romco.
Tybalt, Kinfman to Capulet.
Friar Lawrence.

Friar John.

Balthafar, Servant to Romeo.
Page to Paris.

Sampson,

Gregory', } Servants to Capulet.

Abram, Servant to Mountague.
Apothecary.

Lady Mountague, Wife to Mountague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.

Juliet, Daughter to Capulet, in Love with Romeo.
Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona, feveral Men and Women Relations to Capulet, Maskers, Guards, and other Attendants.

The SCENE, in the beginning of the Fifth A&t, is in Mantua; during all the reft of the Play, in and near Verona.

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JULIE T

ACTI. SCENE I.

SCENE the Street in Verona,

Enter Sampfon and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers.
SAMPSON..

Regory, a my word we'll not carry Coals.
Greg. No, for then we should be Colliers.
Sam. I mean, if we be in Choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your Neck
out o'th' Collar.

Sam. I ftrike quickly, being mov'd.

Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd to ftrike.
Sam. A Dog of the House of Mountague moves me.
Greg. To move, is to ftir; and to be valiant, is to stand:
Therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'ft away.

Sam. A Dog of that House fhall move me to ftand:
I will take the Wall of any Man or Maid of Mountague's.
Greg. That fhews thee weak, Slave, for the weakest goes
to the Wall.

VOL. V.

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Sam. True, and therefore Women, being the weakest Veffels, are ever thruft to the Wall: therefore I will push Mountague's Men from the Wall, and thrust his Maids to the Wall.

Greg. The Quarrel is between our Mafters, and us their

Men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew my felf a Tyrant: when I have fought with the Men, I will be civil with the Maids, and cut off their Heads.

Greg. The Heads of the Maids?

Sam. Ay, the Heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what fenfe thou wilt.

Greg. They must take it in fenfe that feel it.

Sam. Me they fhall feel while I am able to ftand: And 'tis known I am a pretty piece of Flefh.

Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: if thou hadst, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy Tool, here comes of the House of the Mountagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

Sam. My naked Weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee. Greg. How? turn thy back and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Greg. No, marry: I fear thee.

Sam. Let us take the Law of our fides: let them begin. Greg. I will frown as I pafs by, and let them take it as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my Thumb at them, which is a difgrace to them, if they bear it.

Abr. Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?

Sam. I do bite my Thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite

your

Thumb at us, Sir?

Sam. Is the Law on our fide, if I fay ay?

Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my Thumb at you, Sir: but I bite my Thumb, Sir.

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Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?

Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I ferve as good a

Man as you.

Abr. No better?
Sam. Well, Sir.

Enter

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say better: here comes one of my Mafter's Kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better.

Abr. You Lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be Men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.

[They fight. Ben. Part, Fools, put up your Swords, you know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among thefe heartless Hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy Death.

Ben. I do but keep the Peace; put up thy Sword, Or manage it to part thefe Men with me.

Tyb. What draw, and talk of Peace? I hate the word As I hate Hell, all Mountagues and thee: Have at thee, Coward.

[Fight.

Enter three or four Citizens with Clubs, Offic. Clubs, Bills, and Partifans! ftrike! beat them down, Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gown, and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noife is this? Give me my long Sword, ho? La. Cap. A Crutch, a Crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. A Sword, I fay: Old Mountague is come, And flourishes his Blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Mountague and Lady Mountague.
Moun. Thou Villain, Capulet- Hold me not, let me go.

La. Moun. Thou shalt not stir a foot to feek a Foe.
Enter Prince with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious Subjects, Enemies to Peace,
Prophaners of this Neighbour-ftained Steel-
Will they not hear? What ho, you Men, you Beasts,
That quench the Fire of your pernicious Rage,
With purple Fountains iffuing from your Veins:
On pain of Torture, from these bloody Hands
Throw your miftemper'd Weapons to the ground,
And hear the Sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil Broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our Streets,
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming Ornaments,
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To wield old Partifans, in Hands as old,
Cankred with Peace, to part your Cankred-hate;
If ever you disturb our Streets again,
Your Lives fhall pay the Forfeit of the Peace.
For this time all the reft depart away:
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Mountague, come you this Afternoon,
To know our further Pleafure in this cafe,

To old Free-town, our common Judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of Death, all Men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.
La. Moun. Who fet this ancient Quarrel new abroach?
Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the Servants of your Adverfary,
And yours, clofe fighting, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the inftant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his Sword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd Defiance to my Ears,
He fwong about his Head, and cut the Winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in Scorn;
While we were interchanging thrufts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

La. Moun. O where is Romeo, faw you him to Day? Right glad am I, he was not at this Fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peer'd forth the golden Window of the Eaft,
A troubled Mind drave me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the Grove of Sycamour,
That Weftward rooteth from this City fide,
So early walking did I fee you Son;
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And ftole into the Covert of the Wood;

I measuring his Affections by my own,

Which then most fought, where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self,

Purfued my Humour, not purfuing his,

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.

Moun. Many a Morning bath he there been seen
With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew,

Adding to Clouds, more Clouds, with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-cheering Sun,

Should,

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