Imatges de pÓgina
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Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; here all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning +

Such as I love; and you, among the store, [more. ] not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come
Once more, most welcome, makes my number and crush a cup of wine. Rest your merry!
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
[Erit.
light:
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,'
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to
fires!

And these,-who often drown'd could never die,-
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world
begun.

none.

Come, go with me;-Go, Sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, (Gives a Paper.]
and to them say,

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else be-
ing by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
Serv. Find them out, whose names are writ-But in those crystal scales let there be weigh'd
ten here? It is written-that the shoemaker Your lady's love against some other maid
should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with That I will show you, shining at this feast,
his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the Aud she shall scant show well, that now shows
painter with his nets; but I am sent to find
those persons, whose names are here writ, and
can never find what names the writing person
hath bere writ. I must to the learned :-In
good time.

best.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

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

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning: One desperate grief cures with another's languish :

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of th' old will die.
Rom. Your plaintain 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 mad-
man is ;

Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, Sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book:

But I pray, can you read any thing you see?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the lan-

guage.

Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads.

Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you

before.

that

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be

But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
Rom. I go along, no such sight to be shown.

• To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare is to possess. + Estimation.

[Exeunt. SCENE III-A Room in CAPULET'S House.

Enter Lady CAPULET and NURSE.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call
her forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve
bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-
year old,-
[bird!-
God forbid !-where's this girl ?—what, Juliet!

To Lammas-tide?

teen.

La. Cup. A fortnight, and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be four-
Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls !—
Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget
it,-

A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither Of all the days of the year, upon that day :
should they come?
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mautua :-
Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need,
To b'd me trudge.
I trow,

Enter JULIET.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here,

What is your will?

La. Cap. 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.

La. Cap She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,

And yet, to my teený be it spoken, I have but
She is not fourteen: How long is it now
four,-

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And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow

A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;

A parious knock; and it cried bitterly.

Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st

As all the world-why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a
flower,
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very

flower.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris'

love?

La. Cap. What say you? can you love the

gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes. T
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; ** and 'tis much

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.

• The cross.

Holy dame, i. e. the blessed virgin. It stopped crying Favour. As well made as if he had been modelled in wax. comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.

The

I. c. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to

bind him.

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county

stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy
days.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV-A Street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.

to age;

Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-Ay.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,
say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee
to his grace! §

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very
theme

I came to talk of :-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now;
younger than you,

With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

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,
brief ;-
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse. A man, young lady lady, such a

in

man,

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?

Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: *
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; t
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch, §-1 am not for this
ambling;

Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes,

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love;

Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like

thorn.

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; [down.Prick love for pricking, and you beat love Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a Mask, A visor for a visor!-what care I, What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner But every man betake him to his legs. [in, Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,

Tickle the senseless rushes ¶ with their heels

For I am proverb'd with a grandsire 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 constable's
own word:

pride,

Por fair without the fair within to hide :

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire

Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou
stick'st

That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by

Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.

men.

I. e. Long speeches are out of fashion.

A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows.
A dance.

A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every
troop of maskers.
Observe.

Even in the reign of Charles, the floors of the Deat
houses were strewed with rushes.

This is equivalent to phrases in common use---I am done for, it is over with me.

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Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
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 lie. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mer. O then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
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' kuees, that dream on court'sies
straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on
fees:

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

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom 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 mis-
gives

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,

• Atoms. 4 A place in court. 1. e. Fairy-locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night.

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1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate :-good thou, save me a piece of marchpane: and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought 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. [They retire behind, Enter CAPULET, &c. with the Guests and the Maskers.

Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes [you :Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with Ah hal my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance ? she that makes dainty, she,

I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the
day,
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in 2 fair lady's ear,

Such as would please ;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
gone:
[play.
You are welcome, gentlemen !-Come, musicians,
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, giris.
[Music plays, and they dance.
More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too
hot.-

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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Mon-
tague :-
[slave
Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of iny kín,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Rom. Is she a Capulet?

1 Cap. Why, how now kinsmau ? wherefore
storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be
gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet* towards.-

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 Cap. Coutent thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night :-
More torches here!-Come on, then let's to
bed.
[late;
Ah, Sirrah, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes
I'll to my rest.

He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say 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,
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ;
I'll not endure him.

[Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE.
Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is you gen-
tleman ?

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he, that now is going out of
door ?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Pe-
truchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would
not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd:
[to ;-
What, goodman boy !-I say, he shall;-Go
Am I the master here, or you? go to. [soul-
You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap. Go to, go to,

You are saucy, boy;-Is't so, indeed?- [what.
This trick may chance to scath you ;-I know
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox;

go:

Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for shame I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.

Tyb, Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, [ing. Makes my flesh tremble in their different greetI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

[Exit. Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand [To JULIET. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,~ My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender

kiss.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' bands do
touch,

Aud palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers

too?

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in

prayer.

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to des

pair.

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's ef

fect I take.

Nurse. Madam, your mother 'craves a word
with you.

Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous:
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chinks.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have [Kissing her. 1

took.

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again.

[urg'd!

Jul. You kiss by the book.

Jul. Go, ask his name :-if he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague;
The only son of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love sprung from my only

hate!

+

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I inust love a loathed enemy.

Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal.

Do you an injury.

+ A coxcomb.

In our poet's time, a salute in a public assembly

might not be esteemed indecorous.

[One calls within, Juliet!
Nurse. Anon, anon :-
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.

Enter CHORUS.

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steals love's sweet bait from fearful
hooks:

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;

And she as much in love, her means much less

To meet her new-beloved any where:

But passion lends them power, time means to

meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
[Ex it.

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Enter BENVOLIO, and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mer. He is wise;

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed,
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard

wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trin,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggarmaid. "-
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.-
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering
thigh,

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger

him.

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger
[him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation

Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those
trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best beats the dark.
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the

mark.

O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek 1
Jul. Ah me!

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone,-
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To seek him here, that means not to be found.
[Exeunt.

Rom. She speaks:

speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

this ?

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at
[A side.
Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;-
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet :
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd:
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title :-Romeo, doff thy name ; .
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Rom. I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd :
Henceforth J never will be Romeo,

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Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?
Rom. By a name

know not how to tell thee who I am; My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee;

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred

words

"

Alluding to the old ballad of the King and the Beguar. This phrase in Shakspeare's time was 1 Humid. used as an expression of tenderness. A votary to the moon, to Diana.

Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

Jul, How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out: And what love can do, that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder

thee.

Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine [sweet, eye, Than twenty of their swords: look thou but And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not, for the world, they saw thee here.

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;

And, but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this
place?

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot: yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such inerchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my

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