Here are the beetle-brows shall bluth for me.

Ben. Come, knock and enter ; and no sooner in, But ev'ry man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless ruthes, with their heels ; For I am proverb'd with a grandfire-phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

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 stick'ft
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.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment fits
Five times in that, ere once in our fine wits.

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mafk ;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask ?
Rom, I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer. And so did I.
Rom. Well; what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lye.
Rom. -In bed asleep; while they do dream things true.
Mer. O, then I see, Queen Mab had been with you. (4)

She

She is the fancy's mid-wife, and the comes
In shape no bigger than an agat-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens' noses as they lie asleep :
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs :
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers ;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the las, of film ;
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Prickt 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 the gallops, night by night,
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love :
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait :
O’er lawyers fingers, who ftrait dream on fees :
O’er ladies' lips, who itrait on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometimes the gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit :
And sometimes comes the with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

say, we wrote the Fancy's Midwife: and this is a Title the most a propos in the World, as it introduces all that is said afterwards of her Vagaries. Besides, it exactly quadrates with these Lines :

-I talk of Dreams;
Which are the Children of an idle Brain,

Begot of nothing but vain Fantasy.
These Dreams are begot upon Fantaġ, 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
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes ;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horfes in the night,
And cakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them firft to bear;
Making them women of good carriage :
This is the

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'it of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantafy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more unconstant than the wind; who womes
Ev'n now the frozen bofom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

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,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels ; and expire the term
Of a despised life clos'd in my breaft,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he, that hath the fteerage of my course,
Direct my fuit ! On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.

SCE N E

SCENE changes, to a Hall in Capulet's House.

W

$

Enter Servants, with Napkins. i Serv,

away; he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

i Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the courtcup-board, look to the plate : good thou, save me a. piece of march-pane; and," as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindsone, and Nell. Antony and Potpan

2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

i Sero. You are look”d for, call'd for, ak'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. i Cap. Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies, that have your

feet
Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you.
Ah me, my mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance ? she that makes dainty,
I'll swear, hath corns ; am I come near you now?
Welcome, all, gentlemen ; I've seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please : 'tis gone ;

'tis
gone;

'tis

[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, Sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, fit; nay, sit, good cousin Capulet, For you and I are pait our dancing days : VOL. VIII.

B

How

gone! :

How long is't now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

r Cap. What man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much; *Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecoft as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years, and then we mak'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more ; his son is elder, Sir : His son 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, she doth teach the torches to burn bright;
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear :
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows Thows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love 'till now forfwear it, fight;
I never faw true beauty 'till this night.

Tyb. This by his voice should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy: what! dares the flave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a fin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman, wherefore ftorm you so?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe :
A villain, that is hither come in spight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't ?
Tyb. That villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone s
He bears him like a portly gentleman :
And, to say truth, Verana brags of him,

To