1 Serv.

SCENE

VI.

Changes to a Hall in Capulet's House.

Enter Servants, with Napkins...

WHE

HERE'S Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he

fcrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners fhall lie all in one or two mens' hands, and they unwafh'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-ftools, remove the court cup board, look to the plate; good thou, fave me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Sufan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony, and Potpan

2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

1 Serv. You are look'd for, call'd for, afk'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brifk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.

Enter all the Guefts and Ladies, with the mafkers.

1 Cap. Welcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have your feet.

Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you.
Ah me, my miftreffes, which of you all

Will now deny to dance? fhe that makes dainty,
I'll fwear, hath cerns; am 1 come near you now?
Welcome, all, Gentlemen; I've feen the day
That I have worn a vifor, and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please. 'Tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
5 You're welcome,Gentlemen. Come, musicians, play.
A ball, a ball. Make room. And foot it, girls.
[Mufick 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 fport comes well.
Nay, fit; nay, fit, good coufin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days:
How long is't now fince last yourself and I
Were in a mask ?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not fo much;

'Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecoft as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years, and then we mafk'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir: His fon is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, Sir.

Rom. O fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright; Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for ufe, for earth too dear!

5 You're welcome, Gentlemen.] Thefe two lines, omitted by the modern editors, I have replaced

from the folio.

6 good coufin Capulet.] This coufin Capulet is unkle in the paper of invitation, but as Capulet is defcribed as old, coufin is pro

bably the right word in both places. I know not how Capulet and his lady might agree, their ages were very disproportionate; he has been pat mafk ing for thirty years, and her age, as he tells Juliet, is but eight and twenty.

So

So fhews a fnowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows fhows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of Stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forfwear it, fight;
I never faw true beauty 'till this night.

Tyb. This by his voice fhould be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What! dares the flave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity?

Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To ftrike him dead I hold it not a fin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinfinan, wherefore ftorm you fo?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:
A villain, that is hither come in fpight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
He bears him like a portly Gentleman:
And, to fay 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,
Shew a fair prefence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-befeeming femblance for a feast.

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

Cap. He fhall be endur❜d.

What, goodman boy-I fay, he fhall. Go to
Am I the mafter here, or you? go to

You'll not endure him? God fhall mend my
You'll make a mutiny among my guests?

foul.

Tyb.

You will fit cock-a-hoop? You'll be the man?

f

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

Cap. Go to, go to,

You are a faucy boy-is't fo, indeed

This trick may chance to fcathe you. I know what.
You must contrary me? Marry, 'tis time.
Well faid, 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 shåll,
Now feeming sweet convert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand

[To Juliet. This holy fhrine, the gentle Fine is this; My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready stand,

To smooth that rough Touch with a tender kifs. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion fhews in this;

For Saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kifs.

Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too? Ful. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands

do:

They pray, grant thou, left faith turn to despair.

7 If I prophane with my un-
worthy hand
This holy forine, the gentle Sin
is this,

My lips, two blufbing pilgrims, &c.] All profanations are fuppos'd to be expiated either by fome meritorious action, or by fome penance undergone and pu

VOL. VIII.

nifhment fubmitted to. So, Romeo would here fay, If I have been profane in the rude touch of my hand, my lips ftands ready, as two blufhing pilgrims, to take off that offence, to atone for it by a sweet penance. Our poet therefore must have wrote, -the gentle Fine is this. WARB. Jul.

D

Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers'

fake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I

take:

Thus from my lips, by thine, my fin is purg'd.

[Kiffing ber. Jul. Then have my lips the fin that late they took. Rom. Sin from my lips! O trefpafs, fweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again.

Jul. You kifs by th' book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with

you,

Rom. What is her mother?

Nurfe. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

To her Nurse.

And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous.

I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is fhe a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the fport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear, the more is my unreft.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolifh banquet towards.

Is it e'en fo? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honeft gentlemen, good night:
More torches here come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late.

I'll to my Reft.

[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, nurfe. What is yon gentle

inan?

Nurse. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not

dance?

Nurse.