Mer. Why, may one ask ?

Rom. I dream'd a dream last night.

Mer. Ha! ha! a dream?

O then I fee queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fancy's mid-wife, and she comes
In fhape no bigger than an agat-ftone
On the fore-finger of an Alderman,
Drawn with the team of little atomics,
Athwart mens nofes as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-fpokes made of long spinners legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers;
The traces, of the fmalleft fpider's web;
The collars, of the moon-fhine's watry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo 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 fquirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers:
And in this ftate fhe gallops night by night,
Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers knees, that dream on curt'fies ftraight:
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftraight dream on fees;
O'er ladies lips, who ftraight on kiffes dream,
Sometimes the gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes the with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he ftarts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again. This is that Mab

Rom. Peace, peace,

Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;

Which

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantafy,
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air,
And more unconftant than the wind.

Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves, And we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear too early: for my mind misgives
Some confequence, yet hanging in the ftars,
From this night's revels lead, gallant friends;
Let come what may, once more I will behold
My Juliet's eyes, drink deeper of affliction:
I'll watch the time; and, mask'd from observation,
Make,known my fufferings, but conceal my name:
Tho' hate and difcord 'twixt our fires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.

[Exeunt Mer, and Ben.

La. Cap.

N

URSE, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve year old) I bade her come; what lamb, what lady-bird, God forbid-where's this girl? what, Juliet?

Enter Juliet.

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 fecret; Nurfe, come back again,

I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear my counsel: thou know't my daughter's of a pretty age.

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

Nurfe.

Nurfe. I'll lay eighteen of my teeth, and yet to my teeth be it fpoken, I have but eight, fhe's not eighteen ; how long is it now to Lammas tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurfe. Even or odd, of all Days in the year come Lammas eve at night fhall the be eighteen. Sufan and fhe (God reft all chriftian fouls) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God; fhe was too good for me. But as I faid, on Lammas-eve at night shall she be eighteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now fifteen Years, and she was wean'd; I never fhall forget it, of all the days in the year upon that day: for I had then laid wormwood to my breast, fitting in the fun under the dove-house-wall; my lord and you were then at Mantua-nay, I do bear a brain. But as I faid, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple of the breaft, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy and fall out with the breaft. Shake, quoth the dovehoufe- -'twas no need I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is fifteen years, for then he could ftand alone, nay, by th' rood, fhe could have run, and wadled all about; for even the day before the broke her brow and then my husband (God be with his foul, a' was a merry man,) took up the child: yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit? wilt thou not, Julé? and by my holy dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid, ay; To fee now how a jeft shall come about I warrant, and I fhould live a thoufand Years, I should not forget it; Wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he and pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid, ay.

Jul. And fint thee too, I pray thee, peace.

Nurfe. Peace, I have done; God mark thee to his grace. Thou waft the prettiest babe that ere I nurit: An' I might live to fee thée married once,

.I have my wifh.

La. Cap. And that fame marriage is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How ftands your difpofition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour? were not I thine only nurse,

I'd

I'd fay thou hadft fuck'd wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you Here in Verona, ladies of efteem,

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.

Nurfe. A man, young lady, lady, fuch a man
As all the world Why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower.
Nurje. Nay, he's a flower, in faith, a very flower,
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 indart my eye,

Than your confent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter Gregory.

Greg. Madam, new guests are come, and brave ones, all in masks. You are call'd; my young lady ask'd for, the Nurfe curs'd in the pantry; fupper almoft ready to be ferv'd up, and every thing in extremity. I must hence and wait.

La. Cap. We follow thee.

SCENE
N E VI.

A Hall in Capulet's House.

[Exeunt.

The Capulets, Ladies, Guefts, and Mafkers, are difcover'd.

Cap. W Elcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have

your feet

Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you.
Who'll now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
I'll fwear hath corns. Am I come near you now?
Welcome all Gentlemen; I've seen the day

That I have worn a vifor, and could tell

A

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please; 'tis gone; 'tis gone;

'tis gone!
[Mufick plays, and they dance.
More light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up;
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot,
Ah, firrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay fit, nay fit, good coufin Capulet,
For you and I are paft our dancing days:
How long is't now fince last yourself and I

Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

* Cap. What, man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not fo much! "Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis mòre; his fon is elder, Sir: His fon is thirty.

Cap. Will you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. Coufin Benvolio, do you mark that lady which Doth enrich the hand of yonder gentleman.

Ben. I do.

Rom. Oh, fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich Jewel in an Ethiops' ear;

The measure done, I'll watch her to her place,
And touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Be ftill, be ftill, my fluttering heart.

Tib. This, by his voice, fhould be a Mountague,
Fetch me my rapier, boy; what, dares the flave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,

To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity?

Now by the ftock and honour of my race,

To ftrike him dead I hold it not a fin.

Cap. Why, hownow,kinfman, wherefore ftorm you thus?
Tib. Uncle, this is a Mountague, our foe;

A villain that is hither come in spite,

To scorn and flout at our folemnity.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tib. That villain Romeo.

Cap.