Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house: hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which, on more view1 of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
[Giving a Paper.
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here?
It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with
his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with
his pencil, and the 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
here writ. I must to the learned :-in good time.

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 the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain 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 a madman is :
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-den, good fellow.
Serv. God gi' good den.-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 language. Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry. [Going. 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."

A fair assembly; whither should they come ?
Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither? to supper?
Serv. To our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. Serv. Now, I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush3 a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovest,
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.

[Exit.

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.

1 Such

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye;

But in those crystal scales let there be weigh'd ·
Your lady's love against some other maid,
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.

[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 maiden-head at twelve year old, I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird !— God forbid !-where's this girl ?-what, Juliet! Enter JULIET. Jul. How now! who calls? Nurse. Jul.

What is your will?

Your mother.

Madam, I am here:

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.

And yet to my teen' She is not fourteen. To Lammas-tide ?

La. Cap.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, be it spoken I have but four, How long is it now

A fortnight, and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
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.
'T is since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,—
Of all the days of the year, upon that day;
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 Mantua.-
Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 't was no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about,
For even the day before she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man'-took up the child:

Yea," quoth he, "dost thou fall upon thy face?

Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule ?" and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said-" Ay."
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

I never should forget it: "Wilt thou not, Jule?" quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted,1o and said " Ay."

La. Cap.1 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 say—“ Ay:” And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone, A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly. "Yea," quoth my husband, "fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st 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,

2

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 would say, 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 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.

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentle-
man?

This night you shall behold him at our feast :3
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen.
Examine every married1 lincament,
And see how one an other lends content;
And what obscur'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 't is much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide.
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
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 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 endart3 mine eye,
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
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.

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';
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance :8
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 shoes,
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,1o
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so11 bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Ben. 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 boisterous; 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 case to put my visage in :

[Putting on a Mask.

A visor for a visor!-what care I,
What curious eye doth quote12 deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes13 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 's1 the mouse, the constable's own word.

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire15
Of this save-reverence1 love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.--Come, we burn day-light, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain,17 like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment hits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask,
But 't is no wit to go.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

And so did I.

Mer.
That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Direct my sail.1-On, lusty gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum.

7

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 watery 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
Pick'd from the lazy finger of a milkmaid.*
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.5
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 lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:?
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a counsellor's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,'
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,1
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted,11 swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And makes12 the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.1
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, is she-1 4

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 woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,15
Turning his tide16 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 misgives,
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 breath,

By some vile forfeit of untimely17 death:

[Exeunt.

SCENE VA Hall in CAPULET'S House.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all1 in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too; 't is a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the courtcupboard,20 look to the plate.-Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane21; 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 awhile, and the longer liver take all. [They retire. Enter 22 CAPULET, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their toes Unplagued with corns, will have a bout23 with you :Ah, ha, 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 [To ROMEO, §'c.24 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please :-'t is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone. You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians, play. A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.25

[Music 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, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet, For you and I are past our dancing26 days: How long is 't now, since last yourself and I Were in a mask?

2 Cap.

By 'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is not so much: 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'T is more, 't is more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that ?27 His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? [Pointing to JULIET:28

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she29 hangs upon the check of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove30 trooping with crows,

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

:

7 This line is not in

14 The

16 face:

21 A

in f. e.

Come hither, cover'd with an antic 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 sin.

Marry, bachelor,

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 it?

Tyb.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz,3 let him alone, 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, Herc, 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, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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

1 Cap.

He shall be endur'd:

What, goodman boy !-I say, he shall;-go to;
Go to am I the master here, or you?

You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my soul-,
You'll make a mutiny among my guests.

You will set cock-a-hoop: you'll be the man.
Tyb. Why, uncle, 't is a shame.
1 Cap.
Go to, go to;
You are a saucy boy.-Is 't so, indeed ?-
This trick may chance to scath you;-I know what.
You must contrary me! marry, 't is 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,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest hand
[To JULIET.
This holy shrine, the gentle fine" is this,-
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

8

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' hands do touch, And 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 despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers'

sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

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.

Rom.

Is she a Capulet ?

;

O, dear account! my life is my foe's debt.11
Ben. Away, begone: the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.12[Going13

1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-
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.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.

Jul. Come hither, nurse.

[Exit.14

What is yond gentleman? [The Guests retire severally,15 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 Petruchio.
Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not
dance?

Nurse. I know not.

That I must love a loathed enemy. [Exeunt all Guests.1
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Jul.

A rhyme I learn'd even now [One calls within, JULIET! Anon, anon.

Of one I danc'd withal.
Nurse.
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.
Enter CHORUS.18

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,

And young affection gapes to be his heir: That fair, for 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 steal 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, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

which holy palmers touch: in quarto,

17 Not in 6 e. 14 Exeunt all, but JULIET

SCENE I.-An open Place, adjoining CAPULET'S

Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! 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! pronounce2 but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam3 Cupid, he that shot so true,*
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.-
He heareth not," he 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: 't would anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

6

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.

Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but white and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; O! it is my love:
O, that she knew she were !9-.

She speaks, yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.—
I am too bold, 't is not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp: her eyes1o in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O! that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch" that cheek.

Jul. Rom.

Ah me!

She speaks:

O, 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-passing12 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.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? Jul. 'T is but thy name that is my enemy: Thou art thyself, although13 a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Ben.

Go, then; for 't is in vain

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

SCENE II-CAPULET'S Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. [JULIET appears above, at a window. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.— Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she:

O! be some other name.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name1 would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear15 perfection which he owes
Without that title-Romeo, doff 16 thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself?17
Rom.

I take thee at thy word.
[Starting forward.18

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

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

f. e.