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As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Enter Romeo, at a distance,
step aside; 1 7 know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift.—Come, madam, let's away.
[Ereunt MONTAGUE and Lady Montague. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Is the day so young ? Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast ? Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours? Rom. Not having that which, having, makes
them short. Ben. In love? Rom. OutBen. Of love? Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love.
Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will ! Where shall we dine 1-0 me!What fray was
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Why, such is love's trangression.
shewn Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears : What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.
Soft, I will go along:
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo; he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love.
Ben. Groan? why, no;
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:-
Ben. I aimed so near when I supposed you loved.
fair I love.
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
ope her lap to saint-sedncing gold.
live chaste ?
Ben. Be ruled by me; forget to think of her.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes :
Rom. To call her's, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair : He that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : Shew me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who passed that passing fair , Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. Ben. I 'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
"Tis the way
Scene II.-A Street,
Enter CAPULET, Paris, and Servant Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 't is not hară, i think,
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before :
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
and to them say, 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 Romev. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's
burning, One pain is lessened by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's lan
guish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.
man is : Shut up in prison, kept without my food Whipped 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 learned it without book: But I pray, can you read anything 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. A fair assembly [gives back the note). Whither
should they come ? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? Serv. To supper; 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 crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires! And these—who, often drowned, could never die
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 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 poised with herself in either eye : But in those crystal scales, let there be weighed Your lady-love against some other maid That I will shew you, shining at this feast, And she shall scant shew well, that now shews best
And since that time it is eleven years:
“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, and said “ “Ay." Lady C. 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 parlous 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,
Enter JULIET. Jul. How now; who calls ? Nurse. Your mother. Jul.
Madam, I am here. What is your will ? Lady C. This is the matter :-Nurse, give
leave awhile; We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back
again; I have remembered me, thou shalt hear our
counsel. l'hou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. Lady C. She's not fourteen.
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth-
A fortnight and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be four
teen. 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 weaned—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 dovehouse 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 dovehouse : 't was no need,
I trow, 10 bid me trudge.
Nurse. Peace; I have done. God mark theo
to His grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed : An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. Lady C. Marry, that marry is the
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 sucked wisdom from thy
teat. Lady C. Well, think of marriage now: younger
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a maa, As all the world—why, he's a man of wax. Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such a
flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very
Lady C. 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 obscured 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 does share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that ke doth possess, Bv having him, making yourself no less.
Enter a Servant. Sero. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called,.my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait: I beseech you, follow straight. Lady C. We follow thee.—Juliet, the County Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
SCENE IV.-A Street,
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five
or six Maskers, Torchbearers, and others. 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 hoodwinked with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper; 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 am
bling : 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, And soar with them above a common bound.
Rom. I am too sore empierced 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.
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 boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with
Of this (save reverence), love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.—Come, we burn daylight, ho.
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 't is no wit to go.
Mer. Why, may one ask?
you. She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her wagon-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 wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked 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' 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 sweetmeats tainted are. Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice: Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear; 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 horses in the night;