Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

She could have run and 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, Jule? 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 never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—Ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and fay-Ay: And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; A par❜lous knock; and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'ft to age; Wilt thou not, Jule? it ftinted, and faid—Ay.

Jul. And ftint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, fay I. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: An I might live to fee thee married once, I have my with.

theme

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very
I came to talk of :-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How ftands your difpofition to be married?

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

Nurje. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd fay, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are

Are made already mothers: by my count,

I was your mother much upon thefe years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;-
The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, fuch a man,
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not such a flower.
Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
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 fee how one another lends content;

And what obfcur'd in this fair volume lies,

Find written in the margin of his

eyes.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover :

The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide :

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clafps locks in the golden story;
So fhall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no lefs.

Nurse. No lefs? nay, bigger; women grow by men.
La. Cap. Speak briefly, 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 confent gives ftrength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, fupper ferved up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurfe curfed in

the

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 fix Mafkers, Torch-bearers, and Others.

Rom. What, shall this fpeech be spoke for our excuse? Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of fuch 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;
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,—I 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 fhoes, With nimble foles: I have a foul of lead, So ftakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And foar with them above a common bound. Rom. I am too fore enpierced with his shaft, To foar with his light feathers; and fo bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I fink.

Mer.

Mer. And, to fink in it, fhould you burden love; Too great oppreffion 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 ;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.-
Give me a cafe to put my visage in :

A vifor for a vifor!-what care I,

[Putting on a mask.

What curious eye doth quote deformities?

Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me.

Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no fooner in,
But every 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 phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,→→→

The game was ne'er fo 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
Of this (fave reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not fo.

Mer.
I mean, fir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgement fits
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.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer.

And fo did I.

That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true.

[blocks in formation]

Mer. O, then, I fee, queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife; and the comes
In fhape 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 afleep:
Her waggon-fpokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ;
The traces, of the fmalleft fpider's web;

The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams :
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo 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 the gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'fies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who ftraight dream on fees:
O'er ladies lips, who straight on kiffes dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with fweet-meats tainted are.
Sometimes the gallops o'er a courtier's nofe,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit :
And sometimes comes the with a tythe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parfon's nofe as 'a lies asleep,

Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;

« AnteriorContinua »