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 8 : — 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.

-

up

For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul !
'A was a merry man; took
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, 1
The pretty wretch left crying, and said -
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:

--

Ay:

And, pretty fool, it stinted 2, and said- Ay.

La. Cap. 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 it's brow

A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;

8 i. e. I have a perfect remembrance or recollection.

9 The cross.

virgin.

1 Holy dame, i. e. the blessed

2 It stopped crying.

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
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace! 3

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.

I.

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. 4 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 gentleman ?

This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,

3 Favour.

4 Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax.

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. 5
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the sea6; 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.

Ser. 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.

5 The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.

6 i. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.

SCENE IV.

A Street.

Enter RoMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six 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: 7
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 ; o
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 measure9, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch 1,—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,

7 i. e. Long speeches are out of fashion. A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows. 9 A dance.

1 A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers.

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

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 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 3 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.

2 Observe.

9 It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes.

-I an

4 This is equivalent to phrases in common use — done for, it is over with me.