In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep :
Her waggon spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars of the moonshine's wat'ry beams :
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so 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 squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers:-
And in this state she gallops night by night

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er doctors' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream :
Sometimes she gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson as he lies asleep;

Then dreams he of another benefice :
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats;
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathoms deep; and then anon,
Drums in his ears; at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. (Goes R.) This is that very Mab—
Rom. Peace, peace!

Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. (Returns to C.) True, I talk of dreams : Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;

Atomies—atoms, or those particles discernible in a stream of sunshine that breaks into a darkened room.

Smelling out a suit—court solicitation.

Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our

selves,

And we shall come too late.

Rom. (C.) I fear, too early; for

gives

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
From this night's revels.—Lead, my gallant friends.
[BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO, in going, pause at
R., and laugh at ROMEO, then exeunt a.
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 sufferings, but conceal my name.
Though hate and discord 'twixt our sires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.

[Exit R.

SCENE IV.—A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter LADY CAPULET R.—NURSE S. E. L.

L. Cap. (R. C.) Nurse, where 's my daughter ? call her forth to me,

Nurse. Now, by my faith,

I bade her come. (Crosses to L.) What, lamb! what, lady-bird!--Heaven forbid ! where's this girl ?— what, Juliet !

Enter JULIET L., crossing to LADY CAPULET.

Jul. How now! who calls?

Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. (R. C.) Madam, I'm here.

What is your will?

L. Cap. (R. C.) This is the matter:—Nurse, give leave awhile;

We must talk in secret.—Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me; thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

L. Cap. She's not eighteen.

Nurse. I'll lay eighteen of my teeth,—

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I've but eight,— She's not eighteen: how long is it now

To Lammas-tide?

L. Cap. (R. C.) A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be eighteen,
That shall she, marry: I remember it well;
'Tis since the earthquake now just fifteen years:
And she was wean'd—I never shall forget it—
Of all the days in the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my breast,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;—
My lord and you were then at Mantua;—
Nay, I do bear a brain:—

Jul. (C.) I pray thee, peace, Nurse.
Nurse. Peace, I have done.

He ven mark t

ee to ts g ace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed!
An I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wish.

L. Cap. (R.) And that same marriage is the very theme

I came to talk of.—Tell me, (Takes her hand.) daughter Juliet,

How stands your disposition to be married?

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

Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. L. 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.

Teen—sorrow.

I do bear a brain—I recollect.

L. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay; he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

L. Cap. What say you? Can you like of Paris' love?

Jul. 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 PETER L.

Pet. Madam, the guests are come, and brave ones, all in masks. (JULIET goes r.) You are call'd; my young lady ask'd for; the Nurse cursed in the pantry; (NURSE attempts to strike PETER.) supper almost ready to be served up; and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait.

L. Cap. We follow thee.

[Exeunt L.

SCENE V.—A Hall in Capulet's House.

The CAPULETS, with other gentlemen and ladies, masked —SAMSON and GREGORY waiting.—Music.

Enter JULIET L., led in by PARIS, who walks across with her to R., where they sit close by each other in chairs;—PRINCE, LADY CAPULET, and NURSE.

Cap. (c.) Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have

their feet

Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you! She that makes dainty, she,

I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near you now? Enter MERCUTIO, ROMEO, BENVOLIO, and PETER, masked, L.

You're welcome, gentlemen.—I've seen the day
That I have worn a vizor; and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please ;—'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone. —More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, [Exit PETER.

And quench the fire; the room is grown too hot. [Music, dance.

Rom. (L. C.) Cousin Benvolio, do you mark that

lady

Which doth enrich the hand of yonder gentleman ? Ben. I do.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn

bright!

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

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

[They retire back, and more in the c. Tyb. (R. C.) This, by his voice, should be a Montague,

Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity!
Now, by the stock and honor of my race,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

[Romeo peaks with NURSE R. C. Cap. (L.) Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you thus?

Tyb. (L. C.) Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is hither come in spite,

To scorn and flout at our solemnity.

Cap. Young Romeo, is 't?

Tyb. That villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz; let him alone;
He bears him like a courtly gentleman,
And, to say the truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd 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.

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

Cap. He shall be endured:
Am I the master here, or you? Go to!
Be quiet, cousin, or I'll make you quiet.

[Up c.