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Jul. How now, who calls?
Jul. Madam, I am here, what is you will? La. Cap. This is the matter- -Nurfe, give leave a while, we must talk in fecret- -Nurfe, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our counfel. Thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty
Nurfe. 'Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.
Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet 7 to my teen be it spoken, I have but four;) fhe's not fourteen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide?
La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.
Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and fhe (God reft all chriftian fouls!) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God, fhe was too good for me. But as I faid, on Lammas-eve at night fhall fhe be fourteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and she was wean'd; I never fhall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid wormwood to my dug, fitting in the Sun under the Dovehoufe wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua. -Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did tafte the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-house'twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could ftand alone; nay, by th' rood, fhe could have run, and
-to my teen] To my forrow.
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, Julé? 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 fhould not forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he? and, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid,
La. Cap. Enough of this, I pray thee, hold thy peace.
8 Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it fhould leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone; a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age, wilt thou not, Julé ? it ftinted, and faid, ay.
ful. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, fay I. Nurse. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his
Thou waft the prettieft Babe, that e'er I nurft.
La. Cap. And that fame marriage is the very
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
Nurfe. An hour? were not I thine only nurfe, I'd fay, thou hadft fuck'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,
Nurfe. A man, young lady, lady, such a man
La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower.
This night you shall behold him at our Feaft;
And fee, how one another lends Content:
The fish lives in the Sea, and 'tis much pride,
La. Cap. What Say you, &c.] This ridiculous fpeech is entirely added fince the first edition.
POPE. That in gold clafps locks in the golden Story.] The golden Story is perhaps the golden tegend,
a book in the darker ages of popery much read, and doubtless often exquifitely embellished, but of which Canus, one of the popish doctors, proclaims the author to have been bomo ferrei oris, plumbei cordis.
Nurfe. 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.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, fupper ferv'd up, you call'd, my young lady afk'd for, the nurse curft in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I muft hence to wait; I befeech you, follow ftrait.
La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the County
Nurfe. Go, girl, feek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.
A Street before Capulet's House.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or fix other mafkers, torch-bearers, and drums.
Rom. W HAT, fhall this speech be spoke for our
Or fhall we on without apology?
Ben. 3 The date is out of fuch prolixity.
3 The date is out of fuch prolixity.] i. e. Masks are now out of fashion. That Shakespear was an enemy to thefe fooleries, apC 4
pears from his writ ng none: and that his plays difcredited fuch entertainments is more than próbable. But in James's time, that reign
We'll have no Cupid, hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling,
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance,
"Mer. You are a Lover, borrow Cupid's Wings, And foar with them above a common, Bound.
Rom. I am too fore enpearced with his Shaft,
Mer. And to fink in it, fhould you burden Love,
Rom. Is Love a tender Thing! It is too rough,
[Putting on his Mafk.
A Vifor for a Vifor!what care I,