Here are the beetle-brows fhall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no fooner in, But ev'ry man betake him to his legs. Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the fenfeless rushes with their heels; For I am proverb'd with a grandfire-phrafe; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done. 1 Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the conftable's own word; If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire ; Or, fave your reverence, love, wherein thou ftick'st Up to thine ears: come, we burn day-light, ho. ⠀ Rom. Nay, that's not fo. Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay We burn our lights by light, and lamps by day. Mer. Why, may one ask? Rom, I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. And fo did I. Rom. Well; what was yours Mer. That dreamers often lye. Rom.-in bed afleep; while they do dream things true. Mer. O, then I fee, Queen Mab had been with you. (4) She : 1. (4) 0, then I fee, Queen Mab bath been with you: She is the Fairies' Midwife.] Thus begins that admirable Speech upon the Effects of the Imagination in Dreams. But, Queen Mab the Fairies' Midwife? What is the then Queen of? Why, the Fairies. What! and their Midwife too? Sure, this is a wonderful Condefcenfion in her Royal Highnefs. But this is not the greatest of the Abfurdities. Let us fee upon what Occasion she is introduced, and under what Quality. Why, as a Being that has great Power over human Imaginations. But then, according to the Laws of common Sense, if he has any Title given her, muft not that Title have reference to the Employment she is put upon? First, then, she is called Queen : which is very pertinent; for that defigns her Power: Then the is called the Fairies' Midwife; but what has that to do with the Point in hand? If we would think that Shakespeare wrote Sense, we muft fay, She is the fancy's mid-wife, and she comes Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs: The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonfhine's watry beams; Then dreams he of another benefice. fay, we wrote the Fancy's Midwife: and this is a Title the moft a propos in the World, as it introduces all that is faid afterwards of her Vagaries. Befides, it exactly quadrates with these Lines : -I talk of Dreams; Which are the Children of an idle Brain, Begot of nothing but vain Fantasy. Thefe Dreams are begot upon Fantay, and Mab is the Midwife to bring them forth. And Fancy's Midwife is a Phrase altogether in the Manner of our Author. Mr. Warburton. Of Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace; Mer. True, I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain, Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind mifgives, With this night's revels; and expire the term [They march about the Stage, and Exeunt. SCENE SCENE changes, to a Hall in Capulet's House. 1 Serv. Enter Servants, with Napkins. W trencher! 'Here's Potpan, that he helps not to take away; he shift a trencher! he fcrape a 2 Serv. When good manners fhall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing. 1 Serv. Away with the joint-ftools, remove the courtcup-board, look to the plate: good thou, fave me a piece of march-p -pane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Sufan Grindstone, and Nell. Antony and Potpan 2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready. 1 Serv. You are look'd for, call'd for, ask’d for, and fought for, in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too; cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt. Enter all the Guests and Ladies, with the maskers. 1 Cap. Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies, that have your feet Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you. 'tis gone! Will now deny to dance? fhe that makes dainty, B How How long is't now fince laft yourself and I 2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. Cap. What man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not so much; "Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecoft as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years, and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir: His fon is thirty. 1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His fon was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Serv. I know not, Sir. Rom. O, the doth teach the torches to burn bright; Beauty too rich for ufe, for earth too dear! The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, Tyb. This by his voice fhould be a Montague. Cap. Why, how now, kinfman, wherefore ftorm you fo? A villain, that is hither come in fpight, To fcorn at our folemnity this night. Tyb. That villain Romeo. Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman : And, to fay truth, Verana brags of him, To |