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Serv. Find them out, whofe names are written here?

It is written, that the Shoemaker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find those Perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I muft to the Learned.In good time,

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

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

One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguifh,

Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning, One defperate grief cure with another's Languifh3 Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poifon of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf 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 than a mad-man

is ;

Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. [To the Servant. Serv. God gi' good e'en. I pray, Sir, can you

read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book.
But, I pray,

Can you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Serv. Ye fay honestly. Reft you merry.

Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.

VOL. VIII.

[He

[He reads the lift.]

Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count Anfelm, and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine: mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

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A fair affembly; whither fhould they come? Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither? to fupper?

Serv. To our house.

Rom. Whofe house?

Serv. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have afk'd you that before. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the Houfe of Montagues, I pray, come and crufh a cup of wine. Reft you merry.

Ben. At this fame ancient Feaft of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fo lov❜ft; ;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fhall show,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.

5 A fair affembly; whither
Should they come?
Serv. Up.-

Rom. Whither? to fupper? Serv. To our houfe.] Romeo had read over the lift of invited guefts; but how fhould he know they were invited to fupper? This comes much more aptly

[Exit.

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Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch fafhoods, then turn tears to fires!
And thefe, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing Sun
Ne'er faw her match, fince firft the world begun.
Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elfe being
by,

Herself pois'd with herself, in either eye;
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady-love against some other maid,
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feaft,
And she will shew fcant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn;
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.

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[Exeunt.

La. Cap. NURSE, where's my daughter? call

forth to me.

Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years

old)

I bade her come; what, lamb! what, lady-bird!
God forbid !-where's this girl? what, Juliet?

6. -let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against fome

other maid,] But the comparison was not betwixt the love that Romeo's mistress paid him, and the perfon of any other young woman; but betwixt Ro

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meo's mistress herself, and fome other that fhould be match'd againft her. The poet therefore muft certainly have wrote;

Your lady-love against fome other maid.

WARBURTON.

Enter

Enter Juliet.

ful. How now, who calls? Nurfe. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here, what is you will?

La. Cap. This is the matter- -Nurfe, give leave a while, we muft talk in fecret-Nurfe, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counfel. Thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurfe. 'Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet 7 to my teen be it fpoken, I have but four;) fhe's not fourteen; 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 fhe be fourteen. 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 fhall fhe be fourteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and fhe 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 dug, fitting in the Sun under the Dovehoufe wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua. -Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did taste the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-houfe'twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could stand alone; nay, by th' rood, fhe could have run, and

7-to my teen] To my forrow.

waddled

waddled 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 haft 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 fhall come about. I warrant, an' I fhould live a thousand years, I should not 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.

8 Nurse. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it fhould leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone; a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age, wilt thou not, Julé? it ftinted, and said, ay. ful. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurfe. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his grace!

Thou waft the prettiest Babe, that e'er I nurst.
An' I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wifh.

La. Cap. And that fame marriage is the very

theam

I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How ftands your difpofition to be married?
Jul. It is an hour that I dream not of.

Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe, &c.] This fpeech and tautology is not in the first edition. POPE.

9 It is an hour.] The modern editors all give it is an honour.

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3

I have reftored the genuine word, which is more feemly from a girl to her mother. Your, fire, and fuch words as are vulgarly uttered in two fyllables, are used as diffyllables by Shakespeare.

Nurfe.

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