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Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
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:
Such, amongst view 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, [gives a paper.]
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 taylor 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 the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.

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
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
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.

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 hereticks, 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 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.

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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.

For your broken shin. What is your will?

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

fellow.

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Good-e'en, good

I pray, sir, can you

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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.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,—
She is not fourteen - How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

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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 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: 'twas 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, and said

Ay.

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 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 'tis 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 endart 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.

SCENE IV.-A Street.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with Five or

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, say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace!

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'd 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 gen

tleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast:

Sir Maskers, Torch-Bearers, 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 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 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 enpierced 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 boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with

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A visor for a visor!-what care I,
What curious eye doth quote 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 rushes 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's the mouse, the constable's own word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) 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, 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 '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 so did I.

That dreamers often lie.

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

true.

Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with
you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape 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 asleep :

Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grashoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry 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
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 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 sweat-meats tainted are.
Sometime 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 :
Sometime 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;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

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True, I talk of dreams;

Mer.
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 wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rome. 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 breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death: But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. - A 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 all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate: -good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.- Antony and Potpan!

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Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you: -
Ah ha, my mistress! 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
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please ;- 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
gone :

You are welcome, gentlemen! - Come, musicians,

play.

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Musick 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 dancing 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! 'tis not so much, 'tis 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. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His son 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, she 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 use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :Fetch me my rapier, boy:- What! dares the

slave

Come hither, cover'd with an antick 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.

1 Cap. Why, how now kinsman? wherefore storm 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't?
Tyb.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, 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,
Here 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 ;Am I the master here, or you? go to.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand

TO JULIET.

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

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.

Thús from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.

[Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again.

Jul.

You kiss by the book.

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O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be go;
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, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurs
Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman?
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 Petractis Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would at

dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go, ask his name: - if he be married,

You'll not endure him! God shall mend my My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

soul

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SCÈNE I.An open Place, adjoining Capulet's | But, soft! what light through yonder window

Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

[He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Ben. Romeo! my cousin 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! couple but — love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, 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: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

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.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, good night; I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found.

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[Exeunt.

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.— [JULIET appears above, at a window.

breaks!

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I am too bold, 'tis 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 eye 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-pacing 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?

[Aside.

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy; Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title: - Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

Rom.

I take thee at thy word: 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 night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

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